


Sex and Love and Rock and Roll

by Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: Dirthalene [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Concert AU, Fluff and Smut and Plot, Found Family, Multi, Polyamory, Rock Stars and Mages getting laid, Romance, Sickfic, how many bodies can we fit in a bed, mild drug use and mostly recovery, whoops we found a baby, whoops we're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 99,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: A Polyamorous AU wherein Dirthamen, Deceit, and Fear are a rock band and a one night stand leads to long term shenanigans.





	1. Chapter 1

“More Beer?” Des asks, waving his fourth cup under Selenes nose.

“I’m good. It’s hot, I don’t want to get dehydrated.”

“Fuddy duddy,” he pouts back, taking a long sip.

She just shakes her head in resignation and readjusts their blanket where it’s hanging over their arm. They’ve sat through three different bands full sets at the festival already, but Des is still vibrating with anticipation for something she hasn’t quite managed to figure out.

“Thanks for inviting this ‘fuddy duddy’ anyways,” she teases “I’m actually having a good time. Some of these bands aren’t half bad.”

“Yeah, they’re alright. We’re still in the warm ups though. The one we’re here for isn’t up yet.”

Selene just nods while Des scopes out a clear space for them to lay out and watch the next group of musicians.

“Are we waiting for your friend who got you the VIP Passes?”

“Mostly.”

Selene pauses, beer swishing against the side of her third plastic cup. “'mostly’?”

“ ‘Friend’ might be pushing it. More like ‘hot guy I was fighting with on the internet’.”

“Oh good, I’m here to watch you get murdered by an internet troll,” Selene mutters as she takes a sip. “How’d you go from arguing on the internet to getting passes?”

“I may have mentioned they were only good in a recording studio, but were shit live.”

“Have you heard them live before?”

“Nope,” Des says, popping his p.

“So you were being an _ass_.”

“Did I mention that they’re all super hot?” Des grins “They’ve even got a _cellist_.”

“You do enjoy someone who knows how to handle wood between their legs,” Selene teases. “How do you plan on going from ass to bed- _No, wait_ , I heard it, don’t answer that. I’ll just wait and be uncomfortably surprised, I’m sure.”

“There’s three of them you know, and I don’t mind sharing,” Des hums.

“I don’t trust your taste in partners even _slightly_ , but thanks for the offer, I guess.”

Des just shrugs before settling in as the next band starts up.

–

The sun is starting to set by the time the group they came to see is actually up. A headliner, apparently. As much of a headliner as a band can be for a local eclectic music festival, anyways.

_**LABYRINTH**_ they call themselves.

Selene’s half expecting a group of David Bowie impressionists wearing too-tight pants, in all honesty.

But they’re actually… _really_ good.

The cellist wears a mask onstage, which she assumes must be enchanted to keep him from overheating because she’s not even on the stage and she’s overheating. That could be from the energy of the crowd around them though, or the five beers Des managed to talk her into.

Still.

The lead singers voice is deceptively comforting to listen to. A stranger, and one not particularly inviting looking either, with hair longer than even Des’s, and his long coat that it looks like he’s added feathers to in an attempt to emulate wings.

They’re all wearing them, actually.

Des leans over and whisper to her that it’s the singer that got them the passes, and Selene locks eyes with him for a moment and feels her heart leap in her chest.

Strange.

But as charismatic as he is, Selene’s eyes keep sliding to the cellist behind him. Not that there’s anything to really look at behind the mask and the costume, but the way he plays is…entrancing.

Their set ends far too soon, she thinks.

But then Des is yanking her arm to get her up anyways, and a good chunk of the crowd disperses while they pick up their cups and their blanket and head towards the backstage area.

She’s not sure why she’s nervous. _She’s_ not the one trying to get into their pants, after all.

Really.

  
  
Des flashes their badges to the security guard with a wink before striding towards the room with the bands name taped to the door, dragging Selene behind him by the wrist.

She swallows as he knocks and opens the door without waiting for anyone to answer.

Which, proves to be a bad call on his end, when the drummer pins him quickly against the door, forcing him to release Selene.

“Who the hell are you?” They sneer.

“I’m the guy your singer invited,” Des sighs. “I’ll admit I was hoping for something like this, but with marginally less pain and significantly less clothing. We can go at whatever pace makes you comfortable though, cutie.”

The elf looks unimpressed as they turn to the singer, who just nods and waves dismissively.

They release Des, albeit reluctantly, and Selene hesitates in the doorway.

“You brought a friend?” Asks the singer, stepping towards her. “Girlfriend?”

“Definitely not,” She and Des answer in unison.

The singer just hums and gestures for her to enter as well.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Deceit, the one who pinned you is Fear, and the guy trying to hide from strangers in the corner is Dirthamen.”

Dirthamen seems to jolt slightly at the mention, head turning towards Deceit with what she can only imagine is a look of utter betrayal behind the mask. That he is still wearing, apparently.

“I like your mask,” Selene offers.

“Thank you,” He murmurs back.

“I’m Des, and the one with the apparent fetish is Selene,” interrupts the other elf, drawing the attention back to himself. “You guys were better than I thought you’d be live.”

“So not 'a group of bored, rich, auto-tuned pretty boys’?” inquires Deceit with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, the pretty boy thing was accurate at least,” Des grins back. “How about I make it up to you? You must be starving, why don’t Selene and I treat you to dinner?”

Selene inwardly sighs; she knows that means she’ll have to treat them all to dinner, and adjust her budget accordingly. But they also put on a really good show, and she does have a lot of questions she’d like to ask them about their music (and also about why one of them is in a mask, but that’s probably best asked after they’ve started to like her, she imagines).

The three exchange a look, and Dirthamen squirms slightly before he stands from where he had been sat trying to push himself as far into the corner as he could manage.

  
“Sure,” Deceit smiles, slinging an arm over Des and Selenes shoulders. “Where to?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re very handsome without the mask, you know,” Selene hums, lips brushing against the shell of Dirthamens ear while she rocks gently against him.

“Thank you,” he shivers, hands skimming down the length of her bare back. They had both been surprised to find themselves alone in the bed when they woke, given its crowded nature the evening before. A night of hesitation, and stolen glances between bodies and sweat and fingers brushing fingers in between moments of ecstasy. Both just a bit overwhelmed by it all, swept up in the moment.

But it is slow now. Easy.

Gentle.

Selene lets out a soft sigh, torso rising while her fingers caress the silky strands of his hair.

“Why do you wear it?” She whispers. Curiosity eating away at her, even now. “I’d think you were shy, but…” She grinds her lower half against him, chest swelling slightly with pride at the pleased groan it elicits from him.

“My family insists on it,” he explains. “They have plans for me that do not agree with my choice of recreational activity.”

“Oh,” Selene grins “So it’s like your secret identity?”

“Something like that,” he agrees with a smile, head tilting up to press his lips to hers. She melts into his touch as his fingers explore her skin. The ache of her back, the tension in her hips, the stretch of her legs.

It is warm and comforting. A welcomed greeting of two bodies in the early sunlight streaming through glass and curtains.

–

“Should we tell them breakfast is ready?” Fear asks, spatula in hand and apron still tied around them as they peek through the crack in the open door. This is probably what most would consider a private moment, but they worked hard on the pancakes, and they’re getting cold.

They even added the chocolate chips.

“Let them enjoy themselves,” Des coos, draping his shirtless form over Fears shoulders. “Gods know Selene could use the stress relief. Seems like your boy could, too.”

“He is not ‘our boy’ he is our friend,” Fear frowns “And perhaps they could have gotten this out of their system last night, if you had not been so concerned with keeping them from being alone together. Perhaps next time we should leave _you_ tied up in the corner where you can’t interfere.”

“Is that a promise?” he grins, chin tilting up in challenge “Letting me see things from your point of view, hm? Sounds like fun.”

Deceit looms over the two, frowning slightly as they spy in on the scene unraveling in the bedroom. Carefully tucking away that piece of information, Des straightens. “Something wrong?”

Deceit pauses for a moment, then turns and strides away from the door “No. If they get hungry, they can reheat the leftovers. Let’s eat.”

“Reheated chocolate chips…” Fear laments with a heavy sigh, even as they follow the other two back into the kitchen. Really, some things are _meant_ to be eaten fresh.

Still.

It’s good to see Dirthamen enjoying himself, they suppose.

However short lived it may turn out to be.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, I heard you think we aren’t dating.” Deceit accuses through Selenes speakerphone.

She lets out a sigh, and continues chopping up the vegetables for her and Des’s dinner. “Well, it is difficult to apply that term to our relationship given that there haven’t yet been any actual _dates_.”

“Of course there have been dates. We’ve all gone to a few concerts together now.”

“Pretty sure that only counts as a date when we’re all actually there together, rather than one of you sending Des a text with ‘hey we’re performing tonight, your names are on the list. Come watch us and then come over for sex.'”

“Dinner was involved too, as I recall.”

Silently shaking her head as she pours the carrots into the bowl, Selene continues. “The point of dates, you know, is to talk and get to know each other. Not for one party to sit and watch the other at work, and then crawl into bed together. I’ll give you the dinners, but I’m getting _really_ sick of pizza.”

“So why’d you tell Fear, and not me? Or Dirthamen?”

“Fear asked,” Selene shrugs “I knew Des bought them the red pumps already, and I had a dress that paired well with them. When they asked what I wanted to borrow them for, I was honest.”

“Hm…” Deceit grumbles. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. She was lovely, and very sweet.” Selene admits.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you planning to?”

Selene hums, contemplating the matter over as she washes off the chicken, letting them wait for her answer. They deserve it, really. They’ve all been seeing each other for a little over a month now, and this is the first time any of them have indicated that they might be interested in more than sex. Dirthamen still won’t tell her his last name, for goodness sakes. “I haven’t decided. We haven’t actually made plans for a second date yet, so she may not even be interested.”

“So you’re free tonight, then.”

“No, I’m cooking.”

“Great, I’ll be there in an hour.”

“That wasn’t an invi-” her phone beeps as Deceit hangs up. “-tation.”

A frustrated puff of air escapes her mouth as her fingers tap on the plastic counter top.

“Des!” She finally calls out as she pulls another chicken breast out of the fridge “We’re having a guest over for dinner.”

  
—

“I didn’t know you could cook like that,” Deceit compliments as he wipes his hands and Des takes the plates into the kitchen. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Well, if you kept any groceries in the house that didn’t have Fears name labeled across them, maybe I could make something for you all once in a while.” Selene teases.

“Noted.” Deceit nods.

She stands, intending to help Des with the dishes in their kitchen.

“Going to change?” Deceit asks instead.

“Uh…” Selene blinks down at her t shirt and accidentally ripped up jeans. “…no?”

“I don’t think they’ll let you in like that.”

“Am I going somewhere?”

“I’m taking you on a date.”

Selene blinks, and raises one eyebrow, slowly. “Typically, you _ask_ people out on dates.”

“I told him it was fine!” Des hollers from the kitchen.

Deceit grins, seemingly satisfied that he thinks he did this entirely correctly.

“I meant, you are supposed to ask the person _going_ on the date if they want to go.”

  
“You said you wanted to go on dates with us before I came over,” Deceit points out. “So that we could be dating.”

“That’s not exactly how I remember that conversation goin-”

“Wear the blue dress,” Des advises, head poking out from the kitchen, rubber gloves still wet and soapy over his hands “With the gold heels. The strappy ones.”

“That’s…” Selene stammers “That’s a _lot_ of skin left open, Des.”

“That’s the point.” He grins, waggling his eyebrows.

She glances between the two elves, and wonders for a moment how the universe hasn’t collapsed around the sheer amount of _ego_ they’re exuding. Then she wanders off to her room to change, anyways.

She could use a night out, after all.

—

The club is loud, and the bouncer is familiar enough with Deceit that the two of them are waved inside without even having to stop at the ropes. Inside, the dance floor is crowded, bodies pressed against each other through latex and polyester and leather and flashing lights.

She’s ready to leave, already.

Deceit guides her through the crowd, up the staircase and into a more secluded booth. Selene is grateful to be able to breathe through the haze of cologne and body sprays here, at least. She carefully pulls down on the hem of her dress, even as it continues trying to ride up her thighs with each step. Deceit orders some drink she doesn’t catch the name of from one of the bussers walking around the second level, and then turn to face her, leaning across the table attentively.

“So. What would you like to talk about?”

Selene lets out a small bark of a laugh “You brought me to a _nightclub_ to talk?”

“This is a good date location for people our age. I asked around.”

She laughs again, shaking her head before giving in and leaning forward on the table again, one of Des’s long gold necklaces clinking lightly against the surface. “You asked me here. What do _you_ want to talk about?”

Deceits eyes narrow as they carefully rub their chin in consideration. Two bright red drinks are placed on the table as the busser passes them again. After a minute, Deceit points a finger at Selene. “Tell me about your family.”

Selene imitates a buzzer sound “Hard pass. Try again.”

“Ok. What do you do for a living?”

“Currently, I’m unemployed. I do some odd jobs here and there when I really need the money, but mostly it’s freelance writing these days.”

“Like stories?”

“No, textbooks mostly. A lot of math ones.”

“Don’t you need a high level degree for that?”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s a good thing I have a few. Complex Analysis, Discrete Mathematics, and Teaching.”

Deceit lets out a low whistle. “Why aren’t you using them then?”

“I was. I taught for a few years, before I…” she pauses, hesitant to tell the truth. “Left.” she finally lies.

“Bold career move.”

Selene nods, and shifts uncomfortably in the booth before taking another sip of her drink.

“So…parents, then. Dead?”

“Dunno,” She admits “I ran away with Des when I was a teenager and haven’t checked in since. You were supposed to ask something else.”

Deceit takes a sip of his drink and continues on anyways. “Where’d you run away from?”

“Family.”

“ _Evasive_.” he accuses.

“Still more than I should give you.” She shoots back.

“Ooh, mysterious. Why’d you leave, then?”

“I was unhappy. Not such a mystery, really.”

“How long have you known Des?”

“Since we were kids. We grew up together.”

“Would he answer these questions if I asked him?”

“Not truthfully. I’ve had to field a lot of questions from bed partners he’s told some pretty extreme backstories too.”

“What sort of stories?”

“Hm,” Selene muses, taking a sip of her own drink as she tries to recall a few notable ones. “Well, he’s told people he was a very tall dwarf, who disguised himself as an elf to avoid the Carta. Another time, he claimed to be a city elf from Kirkwall who slew a team of templars and was on the run from the Chantry. Oh, and he even claimed to be a long lost heir of the Evanuris family once.”

Deceit nearly chokes on his drink at the last one, and Selene reaches out to try to help before he waves her off. “The uh…The Evanuris family, huh?”

“Yeah, he just likes people to think he’s got some dark, broody past. Says people like to try to 'fuck the sad away’. I’d say he’s ridiculous, but I’ve seen it work, _often_ , so…” She shrugs.

“That’s…” Deceit chuckles, before muttering something under his breath about not telling someone else about it, and changes the subject back. “So, what do _you_ tell people?”

“I usually back up his stories.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. There’s no harm in it, and he doesn’t bring them back for a second visit anyways.”

“He seems awfully persistent for a once-and-done sort of guy.”

“Well, he likes you guys,” Selene admits “He’s actually not even seeing other people right now.”

“But you don’t like us?”

“I didn’t say that.” Selene frowns.

“You’re seeing someone else.”

“Someone else asked me, and I said yes. You all want to sit down and actually hammer out whatever this is we’re all doing together? Fine by me. But don’t get mad at me for looking for something serious elsewhere when no one’s even hinted at being exclusive. I’m not _actually_ a fan of casual sex.”

Deceit nods, slowly. “Alright. I’m sorry. We…didn’t know. We thought you two wanted something loose, and informal.”

“I’m not looking for a multi-year lets-all-sign-a-lease-together commitment or anything this early,” Selene assures him “But I _do_ really like you. All of you. I can’t keep doing the casual thing if it’s not leading anywhere, is all. It’ll hurt too much when it ends. I thought I saw an out, so…I took it.”

“Look for outs a lot?”

“What does _that_ mean?” Selene disapproves, shoulders tightening in defense.

“Well, you said you ran away from your family, you ran away from your job, and now you’re saying you were thinking of running from us, so it just seems like you have a habit of leaving when things get tough.”

Selenes fingers tighten around her glass, before she abruptly throws its remnants directly into Deceits face.

Stunned eyes blink back at her as she stands, and straightens her dress. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she hisses, before storming angrily out of the club, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

He’s right. _Of course_ , he’s right. She runs from all her problems, she knows. She ran from her father, from Haleir, from her clan. She’s running from Deceit, now.

 _Guess I’m just a coward_ , she thinks bitterly, sniffling as she works her key into her front door, slamming it closed behind her once she’s entered.

“Have a good time you…” Des stops dead in the hallway as he sees Selene, on the verge of tears in their entry way.

She sniffles again, and he races towards her, helping her onto their old, off color couch.

“Did he hurt you?” Des asks, softly.

Selene shakes her head “No. No, no, it wasn’t anything like that. I just…” She takes a deep breath, and wipes at the corners of her eyes “He asked some questions I didn’t want to answer, is all.”

Des nods understandingly “You told him about the clan?”

“No. No, I just told him we ran away when we were teenagers. Didn’t tell him why, or from where.”

“Ok,” Des sighs, wrapping his arms around Selene consolingly as he strokes her bare shoulder “Alright. That’s alright. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.”

Selene nods, sitting comfortably in his arms on their couch for several minutes in silence.

“…Do you think I’m a coward?” she finally murmurs.  
  


“No. Absolutely not.”

Selene looks up at him disbelievingly.

“Scouts honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“My honor as a mage then,” he shrugs. “Did Deceit call you a coward? I’ll beat him up if you want.”

Selene snorts “He would kick your ass, and we both know it. And..no, not exactly. He just…pointed out that I tend to run away from things in my life. Right before I threw a drink in his face and…ran away from him.” She groans “Ohhhh, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, and you’re not a coward,” Des smiles. “Deceit doesn’t know what happened, right? You were _brave_ for leaving, Selene. There is nothing cowardly about leaving a toxic environment, it takes a lot of courage to do what you did with the clan.”

“And I still don’t have a job…” She groans.

“Well, that’s my fault, really.”

“It’s my fault, too. I went along with it.”

“It’s the systems fault then,” he concedes. “They shouldn’t be able to take away your livelihood just because you had one bad night.”

Selene shrugs, tired and worn out, and feeling a little hurt. She shouldn’t be, she thinks. She should text Deceit, and apologize for throwing the drink in his face. But he might be mad, and she doesn’t think she could handle being cursed out and dumped right now.

Instead, Des turns the TV onto one of their favorite movies, and lets the background noise fill the room while they fall asleep together on the couch.

—

Selenes phone buzzes her awake around noon the next day.

Fear.

_Can you come help me with something?_

She pauses, and bites her lip. Des has already left for his own work, and she’s alone in the apartment, still wearing last nights dress, although it looks as though Des has removed her heels.

_Depends. Who’s home?_ She sends back.

_Just Me._

It’s probably too much to hope that Deceit didn’t tell anyone. Surely they all know what happened by now.

_Just us for the day?_

_Sure._

_Let me get dressed and I’ll head over._

A thumbs up emoji pops up as confirmation, and she changes into a comfortable pale green shirt and dark pants, washing off the previous nights make up.

She snags her purse, and makes her way over to their apartment.

Fear greets her, wearing an apron, and waves her into the kitchen. “I’m making some peanut butter oatmeal cookies. Give me a hand?”

“I’ll try, but I should probably warn you that my baking skills are awful.”

Fear gives a soft 'mm’ as they hand her a spare apron. “I hear your cooking skills are pretty good, actually.”

“You spoke with Deceit then.”

“I asked why he came home soaked in cherry juice and wet eyeliner, yeah.”

Selene sighs.

“Are you leaving us?” They ask point blank.

“I don’t know,” Selene admits as she ties it off behind her. “I’m just confused, I think? One step forward, two steps back and all that.”

“Deceit can be confusing.” Fear nods. “I often do not understand his ideas.”

“You and me both,” she mutters.

Selene helps fear to cream the butter and sugar, and the two of them are rolling the dough into balls before Fear speaks again.

“So why did you leave your family?”

Selene lets out a groan. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Dirthamen has us maxed out on family troubles. If we are going to all proceed together, we need to know what we are all taking on.”

“What are Dirthamens family troubles?”

Fear blinks. “He hasn’t told you why he wears the mask?”

“Just that his family makes him. No other details.”

“Yes…well…” Fear frowns “He should be the one to tell you. Suffice to say we simply try to keep him away from them to the best of our abilities.”

Selene places another ball of dough onto the parchment paper. “Are they that bad?”

“When we met Dirthamen, he had been abandoned in the woods by his twin brother. He thought it a prank to 'toughen him up’. It was not funny. He was almost killed by the wildlife and dehydration, convinced that his brother would return to him.”

“How long was he-”

“A week,” Fear tells her bitterly. “They left him there for a week, and were unimpressed that we assisted him to the hospital after. As though their abandonment were due to some flaw of _his_ , and not an utter failure on their part to care for him. We have stuck to his side ever since.”

Selenes pace has slowed to a halt as Fear finishes their tale, and she stares contemplatively down at their granite counter top. “That’s…They did that on _purpose_?”

“They are not good people. But he tries to be loyal to them anyways. It has been a long road. He is still only living here on weekends, but it is _something,_ at least.”

“Will I have to deal with them?”

“If we all agree to move forward into an official relationship, that seems likely.”

“Will I have to hold my tongue, if I do?”

Fear pauses as they close the oven door, head tilting to the side. “I punched his brother in the face when he showed up at the hospital, so I may not be the correct person to answer that inquiry.”

Selene laughs, and Fear nods.

“It was very gratifying.”

“I bet.”

“It is one of many reasons his family does not like us, though. A subtler approach may permit you more freedom in their eyes.”

Selene nods in understanding, and helps Fear move all of the mixing bowls into the dishwasher.

Once they and the kitchen have been cleaned up, Fear turns to her.

“It is your turn.”

She blinks. “My turn?”

“Why did you leave your family?” they ask again.

She sighs. “I…don’t let Des know I told you, ok?”

Fear nods, never breaking eye contact.

“My dad was an ass, and wanted a life for me I wasn’t interested in. My boyfriend at the time was a lying, cheating, non-consensual ass. Our Keeper wanted me to marry him anyways, and Des convinced me it was worth chasing after the life I wanted. So we ran away to the cities, I got a scholarship and went to school, and Des started working.”

“…You were Dalish?”

“Technically, my parents were Dalish. Des and I left before we gained our vallaslin, so it’s sort of a blurry line depending on who you ask-”

“ _ **Des**_ was Dalish?”

Selene grins “It’s a weird picture, right?”

“I can not imagine him in that sort of environment.”

“Yeah, he fit in about as well as you’re picturing. Clan life didn’t agree with Des, and he’d kill me if he knew I told you.”

“I will be sure to save the knowledge for a special occasion.”

Selene laughs as the timer dings for the cookies. Fear pulls them out of the oven, placing them carefully onto the cooling racks.

“You _are_ interested in pursuing an exclusive relationship with us, then?” Fear asks, hesitantly.

Selene hums. “Yeah. I should probably apologize to Deceit first, though.”

“He will forgive you,” Fear assures her. “He is out trying to discover an adequate way to apologize to you, already.”

Selene snorts as Fear hands her a finished cookie, and takes a bite. It is… _terrible_. Somehow raw in the center but burnt on the bottom. Too salty by far, and some of the oatmeal pieces still look pale.

Fear seems to have discovered this as well, judging by the look on their face.

“I have made this recipe dozens of times,” they muse “And I have never had any issue with it. Did you do something?”

“Only what you told me to.”

They frown. “I have literally designed this recipe to be as simplistic as possible, to ensure the optimal result, and to keep it from being able to be ruined,” they glance up at her. “Have you checked to see if you are cursed?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” she shrugs.

Fears frown deepens, before they turn and throw the rest of the batch into the garbage, retrieving another set of mixing bowls from the cabinets.

“Do you need any-”

“I do not require assistance,” they assure Selene. “I will make this next batch. Please, feel free to enjoy our entertainment system. Dirthamen has an extensive blu-ray and dvd collection for you to peruse.”

Selene pouts, and instead sits on a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, watching as Fear blazes through the recipe.

She should really learn how to do that one day, she thinks.


	4. Chapter 4

Selene shuffles the assortment of lettuce and carrots and various vegetables around on the plate that probably cost more than her outfit, while Deceit finishes off his salmon on the other side of the table.

“Is everything ok?” He asks, wiping at the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“I’m uh. Just a little confused, I think,” Selene admits. “After I threw the drink in your face on our last date, I assumed we wouldn’t be…Well, I didn’t expect you to take me anywhere…”she gestures to the low lighting and the traditionally elegant atmosphere around them “like this.”

“Yes, well. You’ll noticed I ordered us the white wine; less liable to stain.”

Selene snorts, one hand moving to cover her face “Did I ruin your shirt? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he assures her. “It’ll make a great piece for a costume, people’ll think it’s blood. You did me a favor, really.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I throw something at you,” she teases.

“I would appreciate if we could keep my face a drink free zone, actually.”

“Well, now you know which topics to avoid.”

Deceit gives a quiet hum, and watches as she continues pushing around food at the end of her fork, and takes another sip from her wine glass.

“I did apologize, right?”

“I think I stormed out before you did,” she admits “But I will accept this date as an apology, if you’d like.”

“I’d like it more if you enjoyed your food. Too fancy? Not fancy enough?”

Selene sighs, her voice taking on a distinctly southern drawl as she teases him with “Oh, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a salad, wishing it were a donut.”

Deceit blinks, before a grin spreads over his face. He stands abruptly, dropping a small pile of large bills on the table and offers her his arm while mimicking her accent. “ Well what’re we waiting for? There is an _amazing_ donut place a few blocks over.”

Selene takes only a moment before linking her arm through his, and following him out the restaurant. He holds the car door open as she climbs in, and follows soon after into the drivers seat.

“So…” She says, shuffling slightly in the seat, thankful to be out of the restaurant. It was lovely, really, but she was under dressed and out of place, and it really is nice to just be comfortable sometimes. “This place has good donuts?”

“They’re phenomenal,” Deceit grins. “I took the others once, but they thought some of the combos were…not to their tastes. Pop rocks as toppings kind of freaked Fear out. Its my fault, I should have given them warning. Dirthamen got a little overloaded by the choices, and just got the plain glazed. Which he loved, but meant he wasn’t concerned with trying the more adventurous options. ”

Selene nods “There are ‘adventurous’ donuts?”

Deceit grins, eyebrows waggling “You’ll see.”

It doesn’t take long for him to swing into a small, but almost full, parking lot. He helps her out of the car again, and leads her inside what looks to be a very plain bakery.

But Selenes eyes do light up a bit when she notices the assortment available.

“My treat,” Deceit offers. “Get whichever ones look good, and we’ll split a dozen.”

  
She can see pretty quickly how people could get overwhelmed by the assortment. She ends up asking Deceit for his own favorites and recommendations, and picks a mango filled jelly donut, one covered in pop rocks, a few of various cereals, a plain chocolate frosted one, one with espresso powder on it, and lets Deceit surprise her with the rest.

They’re all _amazing_.

“Better than your salad?” Deceit asks, a little raspberry filling dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Selene leans over the booth to wipe it away, pulling back just as he starts to close his eyes.

“Much,” She admits. “We’ll have to come back.”

His ears perk up, just slightly. “So…more dates then?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the P and leaning back in the booth “Allllll according to plan.”

Selene snorts, and blows her straw wrapper at his head.

“Uh-huh,” she teases. “You are the _master_ of strategy.”


	5. Chapter 5

Fear fiddles around with the straps of their stockings, fighting back the urge to swear.

They’ve worn a lot of odd outfits for a variety of gigs. The giant bunny suit stands out in recent memory; a costume for a charity Halloween ball. But usually they’re content to leave things like heels and corsets and garters to Deceit or, occasionally, Dirthamen. The clothes are a safety hazard in and of themselves. The shoes are impossible to run in – well, impossible for _Fear_ to run in – and the wide variety of straps and buckles and zippers involved just seem doomed to catch sensitive skin in unyielding places. Welts, cuts, infections… unnecessary risks.

At least, they think, the clothes are in their size. How Des _got_ their size, they aren’t sure. They suspect Deceit, and they have a long and fitting retaliation planned, involving some highschool photographs and a certain MySpace page on the Wayback Machine. But that’s a matter for another day.

Today’s matter is the need to get Des out of his apartment for at least half an hour, so that Selene and Dirthamen and Deceit can all set about decorating it, covering the place in balloons and streamers, and setting out the cake they ordered from the erotic bakery down the street. And after two failed attempts and an increasing amount of desperation, as the countdown to the surprise party grew nearer, Fear had resigned themselves to their fate.

They know what will get Des moving.

They finally manage to get the stockings lined up right, and double-check their bustier. Which they have no bust _for,_ but the questionable article of clothing seemed intent on making up the difference with some well-placed black roses. The skirt swishes around their hips as they pick over the pair of steep high-heels, and make their way out of the bedroom. Des has been trying to get them into an outfit like this for quite a while, now. It was a _quest,_ according to him.

Fear supposes his preoccupation has its uses, sometimes. They’re not actually embarrassed to be seen in revealing clothing. They just don’t like attempting to _walk_ in the stuff – and they’re not a big fan of giving Des the satisfaction, either.

He’s much more amusing when he’s being denied.

Stone silence greets their emergence back into the apartment’s main room. Fear glances up, and raises an eyebrow as Dirthamen and Deceit regard them with surprise, and Selene looks equal parts shocked and flushed.

“I can get you twenty minutes, guaranteed; it will take him that long to get here,” Fear offers, striding towards the kitchen counter, where they’d left their phone charging. “Any longer than that and you’re on your own, though he’ll probably make a point of being obnoxious for at least a few minutes more. You should head out now. Text me when you’re almost there, and I’ll call him over.”

They work their feet into the godless shoes, standing in the kitchen, and then start trying to figure out how to angle their phone to take the necessary picture. They’ve faked Des out a few times, just to try and make a point. Using store mannequins or obvious photoshops, mostly. So this one will probably have to be a convincing whole-body shot to get him to actually come over.

Deceit is the first to recover.

“Here, I’ll take the picture,” he says.

“You all owe me,” Fear declares, handing over their phone. Selene looks like she’s slowly scraping her jaw up off the floor. Her fingers are twitching; apparently she and Des share more than a few kinks in common.

That _would_ explain the lace underpants they found in Dirthamen’s sock drawer. Definitely too big for Selene herself.

“At least you won’t have to give Des an actual present,” Deceit reasons.

“As if I would have given him one anyway,” Fear counters. They paid for the cake, after all.

Deceit makes them move into ‘better light’, then, and fiddles with the phone, despite the apparent need for haste. But before Fear can get _too_ annoyed he finally snaps the necessary picture. Their pose isn’t precisely alluring, but then, they don’t think it needs to be. They’re wearing the outfit. That will probably do.

“Alright, shoo,” they instruct, waving towards the door. “I’m not wearing this for your amusement.”

“Would you, though?” Selene blurts.

Dirthamen nudges her towards the exit, as her cheeks flame, and Fear considers.

She _does_ have a birthday of her own coming up.

“Maybe,” they concede, before stepping out of the heels again. Selene makes an odd sound, which they ignore, as they stride back to their room. Apart from the initial struggle of putting it on, the outfit isn’t actually as uncomfortable as they expected. Probably by virtue of fitting properly. Still, they are _not_ a fan of the bustier – it seems like the kind of thing that could break and jab wires into their ribs, under the wrong circumstances. They take it off, first, and then shimmy their way back out of the skirt, as they hear the apartment door close. The outfit comes off easier than it went on.

Part of the point, probably.

After a few moments they are down to the stockings and the brightly coloured panties.

They consider, and then take a second photo. This one of their lower half.

Just in case Des is resistant to the bait, for some reason.

Then they finish changing out of the whole mess, and pull on a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black undershirt. Fear settles onto their bed, and turns on the television. Surfing through some of the channels until Dirthamen texts them to announce that they’re almost at Des’ place.

They open a chat to Des.

_What are you doing?_

There’s a pause. Mercifully, not long.

_Having fantasies about you ofc ;) ;) ;)_

Fear rolls their eyes.

What will they claim as repayment for this?

They think Dirthamen and Deceit are going to be doing their laundry for the foreseeable century.

 _What kind of fantasies?_ they ask.

_Pick your poison baby I am all full of wicked ideas_

And no punctuation, it seems.

Fear supposes that’s enough preamble, and attaches the first picture to their next reply.

_Something like this, perhaps?_

Another pause ensues, longer than the first. Long enough that Fear feels the need to comment again.

_If you’re touching yourself, you should know that it is actually me in that photo, and that the clock is ticking on how long I plan to stay dressed like this._

_…omw_

They snort.

_You’re at the apartment right???_

_Yes. Move quickly, birthday boy._

They reconsider.

_But don’t violate any traffic laws._

Des’ response is quicker this time.

_No promises ;) ;) ;)_

Fear checks the clock, and then settles back again. They give it ten minutes, before some unnamed whim has them considering the second picture.

…Well.

It _is_ Des’ birthday.

And they suppose they _could_ give him something to make up for the inevitable disappointment.

They send the second photo.

_Tick-tock._

No response for several minutes.

Then,

_Baby stay JUST LIKE THAT just right where you are I am c o m i n g_

Fear can’t quite fail to take that opening.

_What, just from the photo?_

No response. They suppose he’s driving, though, so they probably shouldn’t test their luck any further. Unless… oh. Selene has the car. So he probably hopped on a bus, then. That should give them even more time.

Fear finds a marathon of _Say Yes to the Dress_ and finds themselves drawn into examining the corset dresses a soon-to-be-bride is critiquing. Not much different from the bustier, in fact. It’s interesting how context and colours can change so much about clothing. The consulting team has moved on – possibly into another episode; it can be hard to tell – by the time they hear a distinctive _thump_ from the fire escape.

They blink, and then head over to the window.

They’re not _entirely_ surprise to see Des wedged up against it.

“Noooo…” he moans against the glass, staring at them.

Fear frowns, and pulls open the window.

“It’s dangerous out there,” they snap, reaching over to yank Des inside. “Take the stairs, you lunatic.”

“I forgot my key,” Des admits, looking distinctly forlorn and rain-soaked, and just pathetic enough that Fear actually feels a little bad for him.

A _little._

“You should have buzzed me,” they counter.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking with my higher brain, if you know what I mean,” Des counters, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

They take it back. He can fall down the fire escape.

“Ugh,” they say, checking the time. “Go home.”

“Are you at least still wearing the panties _underneath_ the sweats?” Des counters, eyeing them up and down.

Fear purses their lips. He’s not even wearing a _coat._ And after a moment they decide that they can be magnanimous, as they turn, and head for the laundry hamper next to their closet. They pluck the panties up from the top of it, and then toss them at Des. He catches them easily enough, and his cheeks actually darken as her realizes what he’s holding.

“Not wearing anything under the sweatpants,” they say.

Des starts moving towards them, but they raise a forestalling hand.

“No,” they say.

“Aww, but _sweetums-“_

“No.”

Des’ disappointment lasts for a moment, before he, of course, bounces back.

“I’m keeping these,” he declares. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“No,” Fear says. “I’ll get you a bag, and you can go home, and touch yourself in your own bathroom.”

“Tease,” Des accuses.

“You have photos, now,” Fear counters.

“Oho, _believe me,_ I am going to make _full_ use of those-“

They throw a spare canvas shopping bag at his head.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Fear says, as if they didn’t _invite_ me here,” Des replies, but he doesn’t actually seem all that put-out. “Admit it, you get off on making me run around at your beck-and-call. Winding me around those pointy fingers of yours.”

Fear shrugs.

“Why would I deny it?” they counter. Though they don’t usually like to give him _this_ much material. Still, it’s not as if they actually dislike Des. Disdain him sometimes, sure. But there’s a reason he’s part of the group, and it’s not just because Fear enjoys watching him have sex with Deceit and Dirthamen and Selene.

Though they do enjoy watching that, often enough.

“You’re such an odd duck,” Des tells them.

Fear makes a ‘shoo’ motion, and picks their phone back up. Interlude over, and discussion concluded. They won’t be making anymore ‘overtures’ for at least a month, now. Des will have that time to get tired of the material they’ve already given him.

 _He’s heading back,_ they send to Selene.

They get a thumb’s up emoji back, as Des finally gives up, and leaves.

He’s gone for less than five minutes before they get another text from him.

_Send nudes? <3 <3 <3_

Fear sighs.

They already regret everything.

~

Selene’s birthday goes a little differently.

Fear buys a pair of dark ballet flats, that match their stockings, and pull a pair of leather booty shorts and a see-through tube top out of the pile of offerings Des has subsequently managed to ‘ply’ them with. The tips of their hair are bleached and dyed blue for a concert, so they throw on some blue eyeshadow and a sapphire choker, and a matching ring. Big enough to be useful, just in case they have to punch someone.

It’s one of the simpler outfits they could don for this occasion, but it still takes them nearly the longest to get ready. When they emerge from their room, they spy Des, hovering next to the windows. If Fear is black-and-blue, Des is black-and-purple, wearing a pair of thigh-highs and a silky dress that looks like it was vacuum-sealed to him, and absolutely will not cover his ass if he leans more than an inch forward. Amethyst earrings drip towards his shoulders. _Safety hazard,_ Fear thinks. They could catch on something.

Deceit is wearing a dress, too. His is black lace, not much longer than Des’ little number, with dark green stockings and a… mesh veil? Over his head. With emerald hair clips holding it in place.

Fear blinks.

“Why do you look like a slutty widower?” they ask.

Deceit just grins.

“It’s my theme,” he informs them, with a wink. “I like to think I’ve just buried my fifth… no, _sixth_ husband. There’s some debate about the first one, it was mostly a common law type thing. But I still got all of his money when he died so tragically young.”

Deceit bats his eyelashes.

Fear gives up. They should never have given him an opening. Des looks like he wants to join in, now.

“Are you on the prowl for husband number seven?” he asks, not quite moving away from the window.

Deceit purses his lips, and then shakes his head.

“No, I think at this point what I really want is to find a gaggle of attractive people, and settle down into some kind of polyamorous commune. It’s time I started thinking realistically about my romantic goals. I’m not getting any younger, after all.”

“Good point,” Des agrees. “You _are_ getting pretty wrinkled…”

Deceit narrows his eyes, and then produces a faux crocodile leather clutch from somewhere, and pulls a make-up mirror out of it. Fear levels Des with a _look,_ but he’s already gone back to staring out of the window, snickering to himself.

Dirthamen emerges, then. His heels click as he carefully walks out of his room. His own ensemble is all-black, with a fitted corset, mesh stockings, and matching fingerless gloves. His skirt swishes with his every step, and he’s going slow. But he seems mostly satisfied.

“Is this acceptable?” he asks.

Des offers a low whistle of approval.

“I’m in _raptures,”_ he declares. “Are we sure it’s not _my_ birthday?”

He moves away from the window, and Fear pre-emptively catches his hand before it can settle on their hip. Nudging him over to Deceit instead.

“You are thematically appropriate,” they assure Dirthamen.

“Selene pulled in,” Des adds, waggling his eyebrows to let them all know that if they heard a double-entendre in there, it was entirely intentional. Then he slips one of his hands up Deceit’s skirt, and gets reproachfully slapped away again.

“ _End_ of the evening. _End,”_ Deceit reminds him.

“You people ask so much of my self-restraint,” Des sighs, but folds his arms to himself, at least. “Ten bucks says Selene gets in through that door and we never make it to the club.”

It’s lingerie night at one of the local hotspots. Des found the venue himself, said it would be a good choice because of the floorplan, and the lack of overwhelming crowds. Plus, there was a drag show. A nice change of events, watching someone else perform.

“I’ll take that bet,” Fear decides. Selene likes dates. And she’ll probably be too dazed to protest any plans for… twenty minutes? That’s their guess, anyway. They head over to the closet, and start pulling out the trench coats they’ll all need to make it to the venue without being arrested. Or solicited.

They’ve just settled the pile onto the arm of a nearby chair when they hear Selene’s key scrape in the lock. Fear knows Des told her that they were going out for her birthday date tonight. They couldn’t do anything earlier, unfortunately; they had a recording session that they couldn’t reschedule. But Des had spent the morning with her, anyway.

“The only movie at the nearest theatre was…”

Selene looks up, as she finishes getting in through the door, and then freezes.

Her eyes go wide.

The keys fall out of her hand and hit the floor with a distinct _clunk._

“Happy birthday!” Des exclaims, raising his arms, and shaking his hips a little. Enough so that the edges of his skirt flutters.

Deceit offers a wink, while Dirthamen glances down at himself. Obviously uncertain if the outfits have gotten a good response, or a bad one. Fear gives Selene a look over, for their own turn. She’s wearing neat white slacks and a blouse, with her comfortable pumps. They head back over to the closet and pull out one of their white dress jackets, extracting it carefully from its hanger bag. It will go nicely enough with what she’s already wearing that – especially with the four of them in tow – she’ll look just fine for the club.

“…Uh…” Selene manages, her gaze flitting over all of them, now, as if she’s not sure where to put it.

Eventually it settles on Dirthamen. To no one’s surprise.

“Is this alright?” Dirthamen asks her.

She swallows hard enough that Fear can hear it, even with their back turned, and then just manages a fervent nod as her face gets redder and redder.

They stride over, and offer her the jacket.

“Here,” they say. “It is lingerie night at one of the local clubs. We thought we could go, and have a nice time. There is a drag show, and the boneless wings are reportedly quite good.”

Selene mechanically accepts the jacket from them, and stares at their chest.

“What?” she asks.

“Put the coat on,” they advise, a little more gently. “It is chilly out.”

Her brows furrow, but she seems to relax a bit once everyone starts sliding into their trenches, in turn. Then she seems to recollect herself, and puts on Fear’s jacket, before she bends down and retrieves her keys from the floor.

“We’re going out in public?” she checks, a little faintly.

“Mmhmm!” Des confirms, negligently buttoning his coat before he reaches over and links an arm with hers. Then he leans in and whispers something in her ear. Fear doesn’t hear him, but whatever he says has Selene’s face darkening all over again, and embarrasses her enough that she raises a hand to cover it.

 _“Des,_ ” she hisses.

“What?” he replies, with utterly unconvincing innocence. “I thought you’d appreciate knowing. I certainly do.”

Selene thwacks his arm.

“Desire,” Fear says.

Des makes a face.

“Ugggghhhhh, do _not,”_ he protests.

“You’re driving,” they inform him. “You know where the club is.” And if his hands are on the steering wheel, then they won’t be wandering elsewhere.

The man lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“ _Fine,”_ he agrees. “But no more full-names, unless you want me to start calling you _Enfanim.”_

“I have no objections to that,” Fear informs him.

“Unfair,” Des mutters. “I’ll shorten it, then. Feefee.”

Deceit snorts, and Fear rolls their eyes, and sidles up to Dirthamen so they can help him if he trips. Not that he can’t navigate heels fairly well, but this pair is tall even by his standards, and they have visions of him getting caught between the elevator doors, or tumbling headfirst down the apartment steps and concussing himself.

Selene consequently ends up wedged between Deceit and Des as they make their way down, her equilibrium gradually restoring itself once they’re all covered by the trench coats. Though, not entirely, if the way her eyes keep flitting down towards their shoes are any indication.

“I feel over-dressed. Or… under-dressed? I’m not sure which,” she admits, once they’ve successfully made it to the car without incident.

“You look fine,” Fear assures her.

“Better than fine, _mistress,”_ Deceit asserts, playfully.

Selene makes a sound of protest.

“Let’s not – no,” she decides. “It’s my birthday, no calling me that. We’re not making that a thing.”

Fear pushes Deceit into the front seat of the car, so that he doesn’t spend the whole drive nuzzling Selene like a remorseful limpet, and nods in agreement.

“They’re just playing,” they say, as Des slides into the driver’s side, and leaves them to squeeze into the back with Dirthamen and Selene.

“I know,” she says, and lets out a long breath. Then her lips twitch. “And I definitely don’t mind. I just need a few minutes to adjust. Never had four gorgeous people take me on a sexy lingerie date before.”

Fear nods in acceptance, and Dirthamen takes Selene’s hand. Threading their fingers together, as Deceit and Des squabble over which bridge to take to get to the club. It ends up being a longer drive than planned due to traffic, but not too bad. The club itself doesn’t have much of an exterior. But inside the atmosphere is colourful and exuberant, with a variety of scantily-clad people running around in corsets and bustiers and thongs and thigh-highs. The queens are in full form, with hair blown out in abundant curls and sequins aplenty, and their table gets them a very nice view of the stage.

It doesn’t actually take that long for Selene to adjust, once they’ve sat down. Des goes to procure drinks, and comes back with a bunch of colourful cocktails for them, and the atmosphere is good. Lots of compliments going around, playful flirtation and raunchy jokes. Fear keeps an eye on the other patrons. There a dwarven man at the bar who keeps looking at Des, and a human woman at one of the tables who is giving Dirthamen one of those ‘where have I seen that face before’ glances. After a few minutes Fear gets up and has him switch seats with them; it puts his back to the woman and settles Fear between Des and the man at the bar.

Selene ends up nestled between Dirthamen and Deceit by the time the drag show starts. It’s a good performance. Lots of audience interaction for parts of it, and the singing is very pleasant, Fear thinks. Bombastic, as expected. They make sure to leave substantial tips, especially for the queen who gestures to their table and then lets out a low whistle.

“Honey, are those _all_ yours?” the vashothi performer asks, twirling a finger.

Selene actually beams, her cheeks flushed just a little bit from her cocktails, now, instead of embarrassment. She puts her arms around Dirthamen and Deceit.

“All each other’s,” she says, looking almost giddy about it.

“Aww,” the queen replies. “Well I guess no one needs to ask what _you’re_ happy about tonight.”

“It’s her birthday,” Des pipes up.

Fear almost smacks him, as Selene’s expression turns worried. But thankfully, the performer doesn’t do anything more than drum up a round of applause, before launching into the next part of her act. And Selene relaxes again, enjoying the show. One of her hands slides under the table, and after a few minutes, Dirthamen shifts, and his own face starts to get a little flushed.

Fear appreciates Selene’s mischievous streak, when it comes out to play.

They let one of their own hands slip down to rest on Des’ thigh, idly stroking the exposed skin above his boots back and forth.

He leans a little closer.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says. “Care to join me?”

“It’s better to go in pairs,” Fear agrees, pretending not to notice Des’ slight pout as they ‘miss’ his meaning, and slide out of the booth. They make their way to the club’s unisex bathrooms, and Des gestures pointedly to one of the stalls.

Fear raises an eyebrow, and folds their arms.

“Did you honestly think I would fool around with you in a filthy public restroom?” they ask.

“I’m an optimist,” Des replies. “But if you’re not interested, I guess I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“If you come before we go home, I won’t touch you all evening. It’s Selene’s birthday, she should be able to appreciate the _festivities_ ,” Fear states, moving to check their make-up in one of the bathroom mirrors.

Des makes a sound of frustration, but then gives up.

” _Fine_. I don’t even know what we came in here for, now,” he says, moving up to the sink next to Fear’s.

Fear declines to mention that it was, ostensibly, to use the facilities for their intended purpose. Their make-up is holding up alright. Better than Des’ – though, they tend to use products that are meant to hold up under stage lights. Des steals some wipes from their purse and then redoes his eyes, leaving the rest of it plainer but also tidier than before.

“Remind me not to get this brand of eyeshadow again, it’s a mess,” he mutters, just as the door to the bathroom opens.

The dwarf from the bar, Fear notes.

They watch him as he moves up to the sink next to Des, and turns on the tap. His gaze drifts up and down Des’ form again, while the man himself mostly frowns at his make-up wipe.

“Having a nice evening?” the dwarf asks.

Des nods.

“Of course,” he says.

“Yeah, you looked like you were here for a good time,” the dwarf agrees.

Fear notes the movement of his hand, and moves quickly. Darting behind Des and grabbing the dwarf by his wrist, before he can settle his grasp onto Des’ backside. Des blinks at the sudden movement, and then turns and raises an eyebrow just as the dwarf wrenches his hand back.

“What’s the big idea?” the dwarf protests.

“You keep your hands to yourself,” Fear snaps.

It earns them a sneer.

“Like you aren’t all asking for it, in those outfits. Why else would you come here? What’s the matter, think you’re too good for me?”

Up go Des’ eyebrows.

“Ew,” he notes.

The dwarf’s face twists, and he makes like he plans on grabbing Des. To what end, Fear’s not sure, but they catch his fist again, and offer him a solid pop to the nose in further rebuke. It’s the button kind, so it smashes pretty easily beneath their knuckles, but without a lot of damage. They opt not to use their ring hand.

Yet.

“Hands _off,”_ they repeat, letting the dwarf stagger back, cursing.

“Sluts!” he accuses.

Des sighs.

“Why do people always call me that when I _don’t_ want to let them paw me?” he demands, mostly of the ceiling lights. “Do you not know what that word means? I suppose you couldn’t spit out something like ‘tease’ with the same amount of vitriol, but at least shift gears into ‘skank’ or something…”

Fear grabs Des by the arm, as he’s in the midst of critiquing his would-be assailant’s choice of insults, and firmly pulls him out of the bathroom.

The dwarf, thankfully, seems too preoccupied with the blood pouring from his nose to follow after them.

“Really,” Des drawls, and then sighs. “I suppose we should go tell someone about the angry molester in the bathroom.”

“Probably,” Fear agrees.

“Don’t tell Selene. She gets upset about these things.”

“Alright.”

They make their way over to the bar, and opt to tell the bartender. It gets Des a free apology drink, if nothing else, which he happily carts back with him to their table, as one of the bouncer goes to take care of their ‘friend’.

Des glances at Fear, as they sit down again.

Then he leans over, and, just quickly, presses a kiss to their cheek.

“You’re a good soul, Feefee,” Des informs them.

“Don’t call me that,” they instruct, but without a lot of genuine annoyance.

It earns them both a trio of surprised looks.

“What brought that on?” Selene wonders.

Des winks at her.

“Private bathroom adventures,” he declares. “Now, who wants to go home and have sex?”

She sighs at him.

~

They do end up going home not too long after that, though. Back to Fear and Deceit and Dirthamen’s apartment, anyway. Fear drives them for the return trip, with Dirthamen cooling off in the front seat – he got a little hot under the collar in the club – and Des and Deceit both paying an awful lot of attention to Selene in the back. Fear’s mind wanders, though, tuning out the rustle of fabric and the hitches in various breaths.

They should think about getting a new apartment, they suppose. Maybe not soon, but, it’s a matter to be prepared for. Moving can be stressful. Better to plan early. Finding a place big enough for all of them could be tricky. Maybe a house would make more sense, at this point. Though they’ve always been a bit leery of getting a house, though. Not enough security. Too easy for one of Dirthamen’s relatives to just pull into the driveway, unless they invested in a gated property.

Fear bounces some numbers around, mentally, tapping a finger against the steering wheel. By the time they pull into the apartment parking lot, they’ve moved on to weighing the variables of different viable locations.

Should they factor in neighbourhoods with access to early education facilities?

They’re probably have to have a group discussion before they could consider that. Children – and the various means of acquiring them – are a complex and often dangerous venture. Not to mention additionally vulnerable, and in need of a lot more security considerations. Dirthamen doesn’t want biological children, they know that much. Where Selene and Des stand on it is less clear. Deceit wants kids at some point. And Fear would have troubles carrying them, for a variety of reasons. Pain not being the least concern.

Adoption seems like a good simplification, if it becomes relevant. Which it probably won’t, in the immediate future, but Fear prefers to think ahead.

They park, and head out to help Dirthamen stand up on his heels. Des and Deceit and Selene manage to emerge from the backseat, flushed and rumpled but still decent, and the five of them make their way back inside with a certain _haste_ in their steps.

They set up in Dirthamen’s bedroom, which has the most supplies and the biggest bed. Selene switches gears from being rumpled by Des and Deceit, into pouncing on Dirthamen, her blouse open and her bra crooked, while Dirthamen tumbles back towards the bed. Deceit and Des start their usual back-and-forth in turn, half quarrelling about who’s going to do what and to whom until Deceit manages to handcuff Des to the bedpost.

“I win,” he growls, and shucks Des’ dress up to his armpits.

Fear takes up their usual station in the bedroom chair, folding their legs and watching the proceedings. Savouring the simmering heat that builds up in them, as Selene mercilessly teases Dirthamen up amongst the pillows, and Deceit carefully fits a condom onto his own erection. Fear opens up the drawer next to themselves, and tosses a couple of cockrings onto the mattress. Selene takes one, but Deceit puts the other aside, and instead sets about working Des open. Lifting his lower half up off the mattress.

Fear continues to sit, still with their legs crossed and their gaze hooded, and continues to watch as Selene sucks Dirthamen until he’s begging to come; and as Deceit fucks Des until he does, clutching the bedpost behind him. As they switch things up a little, and Dirthamen goes to suck off Des – still with his own cock erect and flushed, leaking as he bobs between Des’ thighs – and Deceit presses Selene into the pillows, turning all soft and cuddly even as his refractory period closes, and he switches out condoms so he can thrust into her, in turn.

Fear watches them all drive one another senseless, spending themselves and denying themselves by turns. Selene is the one who finally frees Dirthamen from his cockring, and rides him until he comes inside of her. Deceit uncuffs Des from the bedpost, and rubs gently at his wrists, until Des seizes an opening to tie him up in turn, and then slides the second cockring onto him for the next round. Smirking as he lazily work his hand up and down Deceit’s length, until his hips are bucking in tired-but-still-hungry thrusts. Then Selene and Dirthamen join Fear in watching, the two of them slumped together in sated bliss, while Des strokes and fingers an increasingly incoherent Deceit. All their outfits rumpled and pushed aside, bottoms pulled off and tops askew.

When Deceit begins to beg, Fear gets up from their chair.

They pull a dental dam from the drawer next to it, and make their way over to the bed, next to Selene. No one notices them at first; too caught up in their own activities. But Selene looks over as they settle onto their knees beside the mattress.

“May I?” they ask.

She blinks at them, a little hazy from her own activities, but nods nevertheless.

Fear takes her by her hips, and arranges her at the side of the bed. Legs on either side of them, sex spread out in front of them, as they settle the dental dam into place. They can smell sweat and arousal on her tired, still-flushed skin, as they lean in, and press their mouth to her. The dental dam tastes like peaches. Selene herself is warm and very soft, her thighs still shivering a bit, as they languidly drag their tongue up and down the length of her. Focusing on the changes in her breath, and the shifting in her muscles. It’s not _often_ that Fear wants to perform acts themselves.

But tonight, they do. And, well. It _is_ Selene’s birthday.

They keep their motions slow and savouring, enjoying the brush of her thighs against their cheeks, and the sound of Deceit coming on the other side of the bed. They let their eyes slide shut, and focus on pressing their tongue deeper into Selene. Sucking at her clit, and holding her hips in place, and noting every building quiver and twitch as she gets closer to completion. It’s important to note that, because whenever she gets too close, Fear has to slow down. Rest their tongue and their mouth a little, and keep her from coming too soon.

Their impulses are rare. So, it pays to make the most of them.

But finally their mouth becomes too tired to keep going much longer. So they grip her more closely, all at once. Swirling their tongue over the sensitive cluster of her nerves, as the peach flavour fades, and then they suck at her until she comes in definitive rush. Thighs clenching around their ears, fists balling in Dirthamen’s sheets.

Very gratifying.

Fear gives her thigh an approving kiss, before they pull back, and take the dental dam away.

That’s when they realize the others are watching them.

Des looks a little floored. Deceit and Dirthamen are less surprised, but still clearly affected.

And Selene, for her part, seems pleasantly dazed.

“Thank you,” they say.

Selene manages to raise a hand, before dropping it back down onto the bedspread.

“Anytime,” she murmurs.

Des snorts.

Fear just nods, and then goes to fetch some water bottles and wet wipes.


	6. Chapter 6

Deceit’s day gets off to a mixed start.

On the one hand, he wakes up in bed, warm and cozy, snuggled up against Selene’s back. Dirthamen’s on her other side, and the blankets are pulled up high, and haven’t even done that thing where they slide off some part of him during the night and make his back cold or something. Selene’s wearing a very soft nightshirt, and Deceit’s arm is only slightly numb from being slept on.

On the other hand, he has to get up early, because he drew the short straw for meeting with their agent this week.

Not that Deceit doesn’t _like_ their agent, but Fear always has a last of nine billion things to go over, and they had to stop letting Fear always do it themselves after The Great Neurotic Stress Meltdown of ‘15 happened, and everyone learned a valuable lesson about the importance of a well-divided workload.

And not letting Fear just go absolutely wild with the micro-managing.

The latter effort had only mixed success.

But the end of it is that Deceit has to climb out of the warm, cozy bed, and then spend a minute staring wistfully back at it, and the two people who _don’t_ have to get up at Ass O’Clock, before making himself get into the shower. He dries off quickly, styles his hair and dresses, and _still_ feels like he wants to climb back into the blankets as he laces up his boots.

Fear is already awake, of course, and hands him an energy bar and a coffee. Des is sitting at the small round dining table next to the kitchen, blinking owlishly, his hair still damp from his own shower.

“It’s too early,” he complains.

“You have a doctor’s appointment,” Fear reminds him.

“I could have cancelled it. You wouldn’t know.”

Fear just _looks_ at him, though, and after a minute, he backs down and accepts the cup of coffee they thrust at him instead. Deceit downs his own mug – he’s always had a knack for drinking hot beverages in a hurry – and shoves the energy bar in his pocket. He pauses as he goes past, reaching out to tilt Des’ head up, and steal a kiss. Not the perfunctory ‘good morning’ kind, either. He feels a little bit better about leaving the warmth of his bed when he tastes the sweetened coffee on Des’ tongue, and has to catch his hand to stop him from unbuttoning Deceit’s dress shirt.

But, then, he still has to go. He pulls back.

Des huffs a little.

“I vote we all-“

“No,” Fear says, levelling them both with a narrow look over the top of their own black-as-night mug.

“Aw, but _babykins…”_ their resident enabler starts, pointedly shifting his morning robe open to reveal a long stretch of skin.

“Meeting, appointment, work,” Fear lists off, in their no-nonsense tone. “Everyone is busy today. Behave yourself.”

Des sighs the sigh of the badly mistreated, and Deceit lets himself enjoy the view at least a little, before turning and heading past the kitchen. He stops to kiss Fear’s cheek, for good measure, and assures them that _yes,_ he has their list of concerns, _no,_ he is not going to ‘half ass’ the meeting, before he finally runs out of time and ends up jogging down the apartment stairwell, rather than taking the elevator.

The meeting goes about as expected. It runs long, but Deceit expects _that,_ too.

They have a recording session at a more reasonable hour, and then some details regarding their upcoming tour to go over. For the first time in his life Deceit finds himself actually not looking forward to touring. The performances he still likes, most definitely. But a lot of the appeal of being on the road has died, and working out all the logistics on things has been giving him multiple headaches.

He’s starting to feel like ‘wants to climb back into bed’ may have become an apt metaphor for his life.

Does that mean he really is getting older now?

He considers the matter over lunch with Dirthamen, and then he gets a text that completely derails the entire day off course.

“What is it?” Dirthamen asks, as Deceit shoots up out of his chair.

“Gran-Gran,” Deceit announces. “She’s at the apartment building. Oh, _crap._ She just sent me a message. She flew in from Rivain, she’s probably fighting with Nona again.”

Dirthamen does that thing where he nods slowly, like he understands but also like he’s thinking hard about just what he understands, and why, and all that stuff. Probably he’s wondering why Deceit is worried about it, but Deceit doesn’t really have time to explain, as he makes his apologies and scoops up the last half of his sandwich, and then bounds over the outdoor dining fence and into the parking lot, and b-lines for his car.

Deceit’s grandmothers are good people. He will fight anyone who says anything different. He and his mother moved in with them when he was just little, after she got diagnosed, and they’ve always been there for him. And for Fear, too, back when they met in highschool, and they took one look at the skinny, nervous kid Deceit was dragging around and were just like ‘hello new grandchild’.

Subsequent adoptions have also included Dirthamen’s fully grown self, the forty-year-old single father who works Nona’s market stall for her, both of his daughters, three cats, a one-eyed dog, their mail delivery person, and their town’s mayor. If Gran-Gran meets Selene and Des, Deceit gives it four, maybe five minutes before she _immediately_ figures out that neither of them had sufficient home lives, and starts doing things like feeding them and making them food and, most pertinently, showing them all of Deceit’s embarrassing childhood photos, and telling them that story about how when he was four he hated pants and made up a song about his own butt.

Des _cannot_ hear that story.

He would prefer it if Selene didn’t, either.

He’s halfway back to the apartment when he gets another message. Gran-Gran is good with technology. Nona, not so much. But Gran-Gran has her own facebook and Instagram which she’s constantly updating with pictures of their cats. Her phone is the size of a small tablet, and she loves texting with it.

_Harel you didn’t tell me you had new lovers!_

Deceit pauses at the light, and takes a deep breath.

_Des told me you are still with Enfanim and Dirthamen though so that’s alright. He is a lovely boy. Full of trouble! I can tell!_

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

What’s _Des_ doing home? Shouldn’t he be at work now? Unless something went wrong at his doctor’s appointment.

A new, different kind of worry takes over Deceit, and he speeds a little as he makes it back to the apartment. There’s an unfamiliar car in his usual spot. Probably Gran-Gran’s rental. He parks on the street, instead, and then heads inside, once again taking the stairs up and then opening the apartment door in a hurry.

He’ll attribute it to crossed wires and a morning spent with Fear’s paranoid risk assessment lists, that the first thing he does when he gets in is head straight for Des. And the fact that he doesn’t see his grandmother in the front room.

“Are you alright?” Deceit asks, hand sweeping across Des’ forehead. “Did the doctor’s appointment go okay? What are you doing home?”

Des blinks.

“It was fine,” he says. “But there was a power out. Half the city’s been dark for about an hour, so they sent everyone home, since there wasn’t much point in paying us to stand around.”

Deceit lets out a breath.

“Oh,” he manages.

“Harel!” a familiar voice exclaims, then, and he remembers why he was rushing back home in the first place.

Gran-Gran comes sweeping out of the kitchen, then. Four feet of bubbling energy and wiry grey hair, dark, wrinkled skin, and the familiar scent of Nona’s homemade perfumes. A lot of people mistake Gran-Gran for a dwarf, despite her pointed ears; mostly because she has dwarfism, which puts her at a height more immediately comparable to dwarven people. Deceit is careful when he hugs her, despite her exuberance; she gets terrible arthritis, and he can see some telltale strain around her eyes. Even with her smile so wide.

“Gran-Gran,” he greets. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“Oh, well,” Gran-Gran replies. “I didn’t plan on it, really. Now come here, I have to see your face. I was looking through your fridge, and it’s been a pleasant surprise since the last time I visited. Des tells me your Selene is helping Fear do the cooking now. I like her already.”

Deceit sighs, and bends down, submitting to her scrutiny of his cheeks and hair and eyes. She pats the sides of his face, and smiles at him, and it’s very hard to mind it at all, in the end.

“Are you and Nona fighting again?” he asks.

“We don’t _fight,”_ Gran-Gran tells him. Which means ‘yes’. “Can’t a woman just spontaneously come and visit her grandson?”

“Of course. It’s just a little conspicuous when she doesn’t bring her wife,” Deceit points out.

Gran-Gran sniffs.

“I’m the fun one anyway,” she insists.

“I certainly have no complaints,” Des volunteers, sounding amused, and reminding Deceit of why this situation is so worrisome in the first place. _“Harel.”_

“Oho, someone is taking a tone,” Gran-Gran immediately says, turning around and levelling a finger at Des. “Your parents gave you a pretty name too, _Ara._ I’ll get the full one from our Enfanim and have tokens done up for you, and put you right on the family branches of the _vhenadahl_ back home, and it will be sweet and sentimental enough to make a rascal like you tear up. I know your type.”

Des looks startled.

Deceit grins, a little mollified, at least, that Gran-Gran’s capacity to get to people sometimes works in his own favour.

“It must have been a long flight,” he offers, calming down a bit. Gran-Gran tries to wave it off, but also makes her way over to the nearest chair, and takes a seat in it.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “It was a pleasant flight. The young lady sitting next to me was a photographer. Told me all kinds of interesting stories. Oh! And I brought you mango cakes, I had to sneak them past the customs people. I put half in your fridge and half in your freezer…”

She trails off as the apartment door opens again.

Selene walks in, carrying several bags of groceries, and looking a little surprised to an unfamiliar elderly woman settled into a chair near to the door. The surprise only increases when Gran-Gran immediately gets back up out of it.

“Selene!” she exclaims, as if they’re old friends. “Oh, my dear, you’re lovelier than I imagined! Don’t just stand there in the doorway. Come here, come here, I have to look at you! I can already tell your eyes look like gemstones, oh, if I were fifty years younger I’d be stealing you for myself!”

Deceit manages to intervene before Gran-Gran can _completely_ overwhelm Selene, though, slipping in to take the grocery bags from her, and offer a reassuring smile.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “Selene, this is my grandmother. Gran-Gran. She’s here because she’s fighting with my Nona.”

“We _don’t fight,”_ Gran-Gran insists. “Sometimes we book flights to other countries just to avoid it, in fact.”

Des has managed to recover then, and looks deeply amused, as Gran-Gran sets about inspecting Selene in much the same way she’d inspected Deceit. She enthuses over the curls in Selene’s hair, and pats her cheeks, and asks how she got to be so tall, while Deceit puts the groceries away. Dinner ingredients, it looks like. He’s not much good at guessing beyond that. Something vegetarian? He puts most of it in the fridge, and then heads back to rescue Selene.

Fortunately, Des seems to have had the same idea, and directs Gran-Gran towards the living room sofa with his appreciable charm.

“Sorry,” Deceit manages, again.

“It’s okay,” Selene tells him. “I mean I’m not great with unexpected guests, but she seems… very friendly?”

“She is. She’s going to adopt you,” Deceit warns. “Also if you left anything embarrassing lying around, you should probably hide it before she does a full sweep of the apartment. I’m pretty sure Des got most of her attention before I got here, but…”

Selene’s eyes widen, somewhat, and then she all but dashes for Dirthamen’s room.

“Where is _Seluna_ going?” Gran-Gran asks, after the door has shut a little more loudly than Selene probably intended.

“Bathroom,” Deceit offers.

“And please call her Selene,” Des adds, a little more seriously than usual. “Her elvhen name’s a bit different, but that’s pretty close, and she prefers the one she picked.”

Gran-Gran nods in understanding.

“I see, I see,” she agrees, easily enough. “Bad parents?”

“Wouldn’t be my place to say,” Des replies, though his tone is pretty much a firm ‘yes’.

“ _Selene_ is a pretty name,” Gran-Gran diplomatically concludes. “And so is Des. I knew a fisherman who called himself that, but he was human. It was short for _Desmond,_ he said. His father came from Ferelden. He gave me my dog, in fact; when he had to move away to the city, he couldn’t take any pets with him. Would you like to see some pictures?”

Des blinks.

“Of the dog or the fisherman?” he asks, and Gran-Gran laughs.

“I have both, in fact!”

Pictures are risky territory, but Deceit starts to relax when most of them are limited to pet escapades, as Gran-Gran fawns over Des, and Des enjoys being fawned over. Selene emerges after a few minutes, looking like someone who has just spend the past little while hastily stuffing things under a mattress; Deceit supposes he should have mentioned that Gran-Gran wouldn’t be bothered about sex toys. But then again, embarrassment-wise, it might not matter.

But then it seems his grandmother was only waiting for her to return, because she smiles, and tells Deceit to bring her bag to her.

He groans internally when she pulls a familiar album out.

“I have all the pictures of Enfanim and Harel!” she declares. “Not so many of Dirthamen, but some of him, too. I had to beat up Enfanim’s deadbeat father for their baby pictures, though, and one day I’ll get Dirthamen’s own in my clutches, and when I do I’ll squeeze his testicles until they either pop or he gives me all the photographs.”

Selene blinks.

Des inclines his head, as if to say ‘fair enough’.

Deceit prepares to abandon his dignity for a little while.

They open with the picture of him in the bath, of course. Wearing his crown of bubbles, and looking very pleased with himself, with that horrendous pink bathroom curtain behind him. Des coos, exaggeratedly, and Selene smiles, and Gran-Gran gets that over-fond look on her face.

“Harel _loved_ being naked,” she explains. “In the bath, in the street, didn’t matter. Any time you told him he could take his clothes off, fwing! There he’d go.”

“So, not much different than he is now,” Des quips.

Gran-Gran cackles.

Oh, this is going to be a long week, Deceit can tell.


	7. Chapter 7

Deceit’s grandmother ends up visiting for about a week.

Fear gets home, and barely checks their text messages in time to avoid being surprised by Gran-Gran accosting them with hugs at the front door of the apartment. As it stands, they have some forewarning, and so they are ready for having their face pat and their person scrutinized, and the inevitable worried clucking over how ‘tired’ they look.

Near as Fear can tell, they have looked ‘too tired’ since highschool.

But Gran-Gran does not actually make that comment, this time. Instead she says they look ‘healthy’, which is a pleasant surprise. She still makes them sit down and eat half a mango cake, but that is not actually something Fear objects to. Des and Selene are home, and both look faintly mowed over; and Deceit is wearing an expression that says that the baby photo album came out.

Fear sighs, inwardly. That means their school photos were likely to be included. Eighth grade, when they tended to starch their shirts. And ninth grade, when they decided to use an eyebrow pencil to try and give themselves sideburns.

Their goth phase was not quite so embarrassing, all things considered.

“What are you and Nona fighting about?” Fear asks, while Gran-Gran sits with them in the kitchen, and nosily asks Selene about her cooking practices. Selene seems a little defensive, at first; just until she realizes that Gran-Gran’s not actually disapproving of anything. Then she relaxes, somewhat.

Gran-Gran sniffs.

“We don’t fight,” she claims, of course.

“Hypothetically,” Fear counters. “If you _were_ to fight…”

The little old woman sighs, and then reaches over and pats the back of their hand.

“Hypothetically, Enfanim, that would be nothing for _you_ to worry about,” she insists. “You worry enough. Now, where is Dirthamen? Is he still at work? Should we send someone to go and get him?”

“He should be home soon,” Fear assures her.

“Good. Don’t let that boy work himself silly, it’s not healthy,” Gran-Gran insists.

They fall into relatively pleasant silence for a moment, then. Until Deceit comes, and the conversation starts up again. By the time Dirthamen gets home, Gran-Gran’s energy is flagging; but as ever it seems to come rearing back up at the arrival of a person she likes, and she spends several solid minutes patting Dirthamen down, asking about his health and complimenting his new hair style, and telling him that he’s a good boy and she’s happy to see him.

She’s always very firm on those points, with Dirthamen. Fear thinks it must be good for him.

They give Gran-Gran their room for her stay. It’s the cleanest one, and contains the least amount of ‘contraband’. Des and Selene go back to their apartment for the night, so Fear climbs into bed with Deceit.

They love Gran-Gran. They really do. She’s a kind woman, exuberant, and it’s good to see her. She and Nona were always very welcoming to Fear. And to Deceit, too, for that matter; he doesn’t talk about it a lot, but Fear knows that his mother wasn’t the couple’s biological child. She worked for them, when she was a teenager, and then fell on hard times. Got sick, and the medical bills stacked up. Her own parents disowned her after she had Deceit. So Gran-Gran and Nona stepped in, and took her in, and treated her like their own. They helped raise Deceit – Harel – and became his legal guardians after she died. And when Fear’s own parents would lock them out of the house at night, Fear could go over to their house and they would always be welcomed in.

But that’s the thing, they suppose. Whenever they see Gran-Gran or Nona after it’s been a while, it drags them back. Makes them think about being a skinny fourteen-year-old, with bruises on their knees, overwhelmed by practically everything, it seemed, and living off of vending machine food and halves of Deceit’s lunches, bleeding through five pairs of jeans before Nona started stocking extra pads in their bathroom, and took Fear aside and told them to take as many as they needed. Shame and gratitude burning in their cheeks, like a fire lit on the hunger gnawing at their gut. Gran-Gran and Nona fed them, too, but Fear couldn’t always make it to their house. It depended on the day.

Climbing into bed with Deceit reminds them of the first time they did it. Back when their skin had always felt like it was trying to crawl off, and they’d been so nervous. Was their breath okay? What if they kicked him? What if they rolled over onto him? What if they were doing it wrong?

Deceit glances over at them, and without a word, snakes his arm around their shoulders, and pulls them to his chest.

Fear sighs.

“Cuddler,” they accuse.

“You’re warm,” he says. Which is a bold lie; Fear runs cold. They’re skinny and sharp and icy, their feet are almost always freezing compared to anybody else’s. But after a moment they just sigh, and rest their head against their oldest friend’s shoulder. Recollecting the fights they used to get into. Fear was not a kindly child, over-critical, paranoid, and anxious, prone to panic attacks and wild accusations, and Deceit was a chronic liar. He once spent a year trying to convince half the school that his father was a billionaire from Orlais. He would tell people his mother was still alive, and just ‘on business’. He spent a summer working as a counsellor at one of the seasonal camps just outside town, and when he got back, he told everyone he’d been abducted by aliens.

They’d both been so insufferable, no one else could stand them. It was how their friendship was born.

“What do you think Gran-Gran and Nona are fighting about?” Deceit asks them, quietly, after a minute.

Fear shrugs.

“Not sure. Possibly Nona started smoking again. Or Gran-Gran is trying to get her to sell the market stand again. Or they might just have gotten bored.”

They feel Deceit frown, more than they see it.

“I hope Nona didn’t start smoking again,” he mutters.

“So do I,” they admit.

They fall into silence. Fear waits until Deceit’s breathing has started to even out before they roll away a bit, putting enough distance between them so that they can fall asleep, too; lulled by the rhythm of Deceit’s breaths, but not distracted so much by the press of skin against skin.

They wake up the next morning with their head wedged between six pillows, and two extra blankets thrown over them. Deceit is already up, it seems. Fear blinks, and stares at the clock. Six am, but Gran-Gran’s an early riser, and they can smell something delicious frying in the kitchen.

Fear sits up, and feels a moment of earl-morning disorientation. Their skin feels too-heavy on their own muscles. Everything a little bit askew, warmed from sleep, but itching unpleasantly, too. Old bruises ache a bit. They have to take a moment to look around the room, and remind themselves that this is a space they belong in. That the nebulous, purposeless apprehension suddenly fishing through their mind, looking for something to drag them over the coals about, is unfounded.

_You slept in._

_You didn’t check on Gran-Gran in the night._

_You didn’t go to that meeting yourself._

_You didn’t properly check in with Des about his doctor’s appointment._

_You barely spoke to Selene last night._

_You didn’t text Nona to tell her where Gran-Gran is and see how she’s doing._

_Worthless, worthless, empty sack of bones…_

Fear pushes it aside. _Not helpful, not true,_ they remind themselves. It’s not always something they believe, but they murmur it aloud, in turn, and that makes it stick a little more. They feel… no. _He._ He’ll be a ‘he’ today, he thinks. He feels rested, at least. And after a few more minutes, the unease abates, and his heart stops trying to claw its way out through his throat. He gets up. Makes the bed. Heads into the bathroom, to comb his hair, and brush his teeth, and contemplates a shower, before deciding against it. Fear triple-checks his breath, and decides some eyeliner is order.

Maybe a little lipstick, too. He feels better when the scar on his bottom lip is completely invisible.

No reason for it to feel better. He just does.

He finishes getting dressed before he emerges into the kitchen. Last up for a change, it seems. Deceit is in his striped shorts and black raven shirt, polishing off a plate of eggs. Dirthamen in his robe, sitting beside him, and he and Gran-Gran both look over as Fear approaches.

“Masculine pronouns today, if you please,” Fear requests, checking the stove, before sliding onto one of the barstools.

Dirthamen nods, and so does Gran-Gran.

“Neutral for me,” Deceit requests.

Ah.

They’ve been reverted to the highschool standard, then.

Fear checks his phone, while Gran-Gran plates up too much food for him, and then settles into the seat beside him. He leans over and kisses her cheek.

“You did not have to go to the trouble,” he says.

She waves him off.

“I like to,” she insists. “Harel helped with the chopping, so don’t fret. They found me a good stool, too.”

Fear glances over, and confirms it to be the one from the hall closet – purchased specifically for these sorts of occasions – before nodding, and tucking in. Nothing calamitous seems to have happened overnight, at least. He fires off a pair of ‘good morning’ texts to Selene and Des, and mentally reviews the day’s plans. Ignores the voice that tells him he’s probably just going to make a disaster out of all of them, and that he should stuff himself into a closet somewhere and just sit in the dark until the day is done.

Someone would just come and get him, anyway. And then worry. And besides, the compulsion isn’t all that strong.

“You look tense,” Dirthamen informs him.

Deceit shakes their head a little, though, and he immediately changes the subject; and Fear is glad, because they are not good at explaining these things. Not even to Dirthamen, who understands better than Deceit does, sometimes.

Dirthamen is a good person. Better than many. Better than _most._

_And you cannot even figure out how to keep his wretched brother from ruining his life._

He should probably take his medication today, he supposes. His prescription is on an as-needed basis, which can get a little tricky because, in addition to numerous other factors, his paranoia likes to insist that he’s medicating himself too much and that his drugs have been tampered with. Even when he knows better.

Halfway through breakfast he gets too nauseated to keep eating, though, and he knows that’s a sign. He excuses himself, heading back into the bathroom, and when he gets back, Gran-Gran only asks if he’s finished and if he would like her to keep the leftovers. Fear gratefully asks her to, checks the time, and then sets out. He has a meeting with their accountant today. Their _official_ accountant, anyway. Fear and Dirthamen both keep track of the financials themselves. Too many stories about successful musicians who lost every cent they ever made are cluttered in both of their minds; and the money they make from their music exists independent of Dirthamen’s family.

Dirthamen catches him before he leaves, though.

“I transferred some funds to my brother the day before yesterday,” he admits.

Fear purses his lips.

Dirthamen’s funds are his own. They all have their own money. Much of it gets withdrawn in thirds automatically to pay their various expenses, but they all have checking accounts and saving accounts. Fear keeps track of them, though. At the end every month, Dirthamen’s personal accounts hemorrhage funds – usually because his father has started getting Falon’Din’s bills, and subsequently started roaring about how he’s not paying for this or that or anything else, and Falon’Din gets cut off and goes and bullies his brother into making up the difference.

“You should not give him money,” Fear says. He always says that.

Dirthamen lets out a breath.

“It is my money to give,” he says, which is also what he always says.

Fear’s on edge, though, and it’s a bad time for this. He levels a finger at Dirthamen’s chest.

“You need to start thinking ahead more,” he tells him. “I know you love your brother. But he is not the _only_ person who needs you. Who might depend on you. One day we might all get into terrible trouble. What will you do if you have given everything to Falon’Din, then, and have nothing left to help the rest of us?”

Dirthamen’s brows furrow.

Fear regrets his sharpness, almost immediately. That’s not fair, he knows. It isn’t even a very good argument. Dirthamen should stop giving into his brother’s demands for his own sake; not for the sake of Fear’s dark anticipations. Whether they are reasonable or not. On days like these, it is hard for Fear to tell what is pragmatism and what is paranoia.

“Apologies,” he murmurs, immediately.

“I…” Dirthamen begins, and then hesitates. Fear reaches over, and clasps his shoulder.

“No. I apologize, that was unfair,” he insists. “I dislike you giving him money. He doesn’t deserve it. I will barely concede that he deserves oxygen, and even then, mostly just because you’re attached to him. But you are right; it is your money, and if _you_ think he deserves it, then that is all that needs to be said.”

Dirthamen manages a hesitant nod.

“I know you dislike it,” he confirms. “I would not give him more than I thought I could spare. Even accounting for emergencies.”

“Good,” Fear agrees, and leaves it at that.

He will have to be careful, he thinks, in getting through the day. Avoid major decisions, and be as mindful as he can manage. And make sure his boundaries are respected. No going to the coffee shop on third street, he thinks. They make good lattes but the barista there is very chatty, and tends to take opportunities to touch him without his permission.

He takes the stairs down and out of the building, and sets off, banishing old memories that surface like sunken wrecks from the back of his mind. Ghost ships.

By midday, though, his mind is much less cluttered, and his steps are lighter. He handles his business e-mails, gets through his meetings, works on some compositions and updates the band’s website, and their twitter feed. He gets a few texts from Gran-Gran, which are about dinner plans and advice for spots to visit in the city; and he gets a few sexts from Des, and some questions from Selene, who wants to know what kind of food Gran-Gran likes and if she’s allergic to anything.

Gran-Gran is partial to a lot of baked goods.

Fear opts not to mention that.

He doesn’t intend to, but he ends up getting back home later than he planned. Traffic is a mess. There’s an accident on his usual route, and a train crossing through his detour. He listens to some of the band’s latest practice sessions, scrutinizing them beneath the rumble of the passing train. He taps the steering wheel with both of his index fingers. Restlessness is a common side-effect of his medications, but it’s also something that’s apt to come over him during the evenings.

He manages to school himself into a semblance of calm and collectedness by the time he gets home, however.

The apartment smells like Selene’s cooking. Some Dalish spices, that she never seems to use in over-abundance, but that always have very particular fragrances. Fear is ashamed at the momentary relief he feels; scents have a way of drawing the mind back to certain times and places, and he doesn’t think today would be a good day to be jolted back to highschool by the scent of Gran-Gran’s cooking.

Tomorrow, maybe, will be better.

He doesn’t begrudge himself the happiness he feels when he walks into the apartment and finds everyone there, though. Whole and well, with Gran-Gran in the sitting room, and Dirthamen cleaning up something for Selene while she moves around the stove, and Deceit working intently on something with their laptop.

Gran-Gran gets up to give him his ‘welcome home’ hug, and Des moves in after she does, grinning slyly as he claims a hug, too.

“Babycakes!” Des greets.

“Hi, Fear!” Selene calls. Dirthamen turns and smiles at him. and Deceit offers a vague wave, not taking their eyes off of their laptop.

Fear pats the back of Des’ shoulder, and then peels him off.

“There. Now shoo,” he instructs.

“You see?” Des says, gesturing towards him. “I told you. So cruel with my affections!”

Gran-Gran pats Des on the arm.

“He let you touch him. He probably loves you,” she opines, which Fear supposes is true enough.

“A man can dream,” Des permits, with excessive dramatics. Fear actually manages to get his coat off, at least, and he’s surprised to find that he’s less impatient with Des’ over-enthusiasm than usual. He still makes his way over to Deceit, though, and promptly commandeers the square of couch beside them; wordlessly invoking their long-standing agreement where Deceit will sometimes act as a barricade between Fear and everything else.

When Des sidles over, Deceit dutifully sighs, and puts away the laptop - they’re playing a game, Fear notes – and captures Des against his side, opposite Fear.

“It’s Fear’s personal space time, Des,” Deceit declares.

“Whoever invented the concept of personal space should be shot,” Des grumbles. But he doesn’t actually make a point of trying to get to Fear after that, either. There are plenty of other people to cuddle with instead, and Des makes full use of the opening Deceit has given him, and sprawls across their lap like a bored cat asking for attention.

Des is entirely the sort of person who needs four lovers, Fear thinks, if only to give him the sheer amount of affection he seems to need.

Eventually Deceit’s attention starts to turn a little romantic. One of their hands slips up under Des’ shirt, and they press some kisses to his forehead, and then once to his lips. But Gran-Gran, though never condemning of such things, is still Deceit’s grandmother, and grandparents tend to be a major deterrent towards feeling up one’s lovers. When Des’ own touch starts fumbling with Deceit’s belt, Deceit halts him.

It’s a herald of things to come, in the end.

The second night of Gran-Gran’s visit winds up filled with more stories. Fear excuses himself from it fairly early in, and retreats to his room and his computer. The night ends with Gran-Gran in his bed, and Des and Selene going home, and Fear sleeping with Dirthamen instead of Deceit, in order to try and avoid dragging himself back in time again.

Sex isn’t really on the table for most of them, for a variety of reasons. And it stays that way for most of the week.

The third night of Gran-Gran’s visit, Deceit and Des take her out on the town, and Dirthamen ends up having to attend a dinner function with his mother, and so Fear and Selene end up spending most of that time making him text them every fifteen minutes, and worrying. They put in a movie to distract them. It is not a very successful method of distraction, but eventually everyone gets home, again. Selene and Des stay over that night. Crowded into Dirthamen’s bed, too quiet to be fooling around very much.

Work and Gran-Gran eat up most of the rest of the week. And it is, barring some bumps at the start, a _good_ week. Fear and Deceit fail to uncover the reason for Gran-Gran and Nona’s fight. But seven days in, there is a phone call, and Gran-Gran goes and takes it out on the balcony. And when she comes back inside she seems satisfied about something. She leaves in as much of a whirlwind as she arrived in, though she makes Selene and Des both promise to come and visit in Rivain when they can, and to meet Nona, who is apparently green with envy that Gran-Gran got to meet them first.

Her flight departs in the late afternoon.

Fear gets back from dropping her off at the airport. He gets inside, and veritably sags into his usual chair. The apartment feels normal again. All pleasantness of seeing Gran-Gran again aside, he appreciates that. There are unspoken rules to the division of space in the apartment that are inherently understood by the five of them. Gran-Gran, through no fault of her own, had upset that equilibrium. Fear is glad to have it restored.

And there are other benefits to not having a beloved, elderly relative sleeping in his room, too.

Benefits that become clear once the five of them are alone together in the apartment for the first time in a week.

Des – instigator that he is – seizes upon the opportunity at once.

“I want to be the filling in a sandwich,” he declares.

Selene makes a pained sound, and her unruly associate levels a finger at her.

“Selene wants to be the filling in a sandwich too,” he insists.

“ _Des!”_ Selene objects.

She also, conspicuously, doesn’t deny it, as Des just looks at her in that unrepentant ‘well you _do_ ’ manner, and causes her to drop her face into her hands.

“Do I have the energy to be the bun in two different sandwiches?” Deceit asks the ceiling, from where they’re slumped across the arm of the sofa. They narrow their eyes, intently contemplative, and then nod to themselves. “I don’t know for certain. But I know I have the energy to _try.”_

Dirthamen raises a hand.

“I do not think I could manage more than one sandwich,” he admits. “Provided we are using ‘sandwich’ as a euphemism for three-way intercourse.”

“We are,” Des confirms.

Dirthamen nods, and then after another, internally contemplative moment, four sets of eyes turn questioningly towards Fear.

…Ah.

He considers the matter himself. But the prospect doesn’t seem unpleasant. Maybe even welcome, in fact. Contact could help with reaffirming their bonds, and he is confident that the encounter will end if and when he needs it to.

“I can be a bun,” he permits.

“Dibs!” Des shouts, sitting bolt upright from where he’d been lounging against Selene in a shocking hurry. “Dibs, dibs, dibs!”

Selene looks at Fear.

Fear inclines his head.

“Alright, alright, you get Fear,” she allows. “Stop yelling ‘dibs’, he’s not a pudding cup.”

“He can be _my_ pudding cup anytime,” Des declares.

There’s a pause.

“…That sounded much filthier than I expected,” Des concludes. He seems pleased about it.

“I am rethinking this idea,” Fear announces, which at least puts an end to the terrible jokes. He isn’t really, though. Or at least, not sincerely. After a moment he gets up to go and fetch everything they require. Condoms, lubricant, and a few other items which may or may not be needed. He asks Selene if she wants her strap-on, but she answers in the negative. He considers taking his own out of the box in the bottom of the closet, but then gives it some more thought, and leaves it be.

“Who is going first?” he asks.

“Des,” Selene immediately declares. “It’s his idea. If Deceit gets too tired to keep going, I’m pretty sure I’ll be less broken up about it.”

Dirthamen nods in sage agreement, while Des looks momentarily conflicted. But then Fear deposits their supplies onto the living room coffee table, and he seems to get over whatever internal debate he was having in favour of stripping out of his clothes.

Fear and Deceit follow suit.

“Ground rules,” Fear announces, handing Des a packet of condoms. “Frottage is acceptable. If you want to penetrate me, you will help prepare me, and it will be anal penetration _only._ I know you know what you are doing there, so I will not give you my usual lectures on the subject, or warnings about what will happen if you violate my consent in this regard and try to penetrate me anywhere else.”

Des blinks, and Fear looks him in the eye.

“I trust you not to injure me,” he admits.

Des brows furrow, just a little.

“I won’t,” he agrees, with a surprising lack of his usual slyness or innuendo. Fear nods, and then nudges him towards Deceit. The two of them start getting into things, and for a while, it’s not that different from their usual scenario. Dirthamen and Selene stay to watch, hands roaming slowly and gently over one another, as Deceit pulls Des into their lap, and starts stroking him.

Fear watches for a few minutes, before sliding a lubricated condom onto his fingers. He passes the packet over to Deceit, and take up a position in front of Des.

“So,” he says. “In or out?”

Des laughs, just a little breathlessly. His cheeks are flushed, and there is a definite gleam in his eye.

“You choose,” he decides. “I’ll enjoy it either way.”

Fear inclines his head, and after a moment more of contemplation, makes sure the lubricant is close at hand. Then he spreads his legs, and starts working the already-slicked condom down and down, between his cheeks. Des’ breath catches, and his cock twitches; and Deceit watches them both, before moving back a bit, to start opening Des up in turn.

It always feels odd, to begin something like this, Fear thinks. Sliding his fingers into himself is not precisely sexy. He doesn’t get a whole lot of sensation, in fact; when he does it right, the goal is more to make sure he is relaxed and liable to stay that way, stretching the muscles open, keeping everything as loose and slick as possible. Anal tearing is not good. Any part of the body which, by necessity of its designed function, comes into contact with fecal matter, is not a good place to injure. And these are not terribly sexy thoughts; though Fear thinks they are important ones, because a few minutes of passion isn’t really worth the subsequent agony that might come from forgetting.

But then Des slides a condom onto his own digits, and starts to help. And that makes it a little better. Des has very pretty eyelashes. Very nice hair. He runs hot, like Selene, and his gaze is intent, and his touch is careful. The feel of someone else’s fingers running over such delicate, sensitive areas is both perilous and stimulating. Fear knows he can’t handle it all the time. But… he actually _does_ trust Des. He trusts him with Dirthamen and Deceit, and that is only the smallest step removed from trusting him completely, and Fear would worry more about him making comments about this for ages after the fact, than doing it wrong and putting Fear in the hospital.

And he knows how to angle his touch, to stimulate Fear from the inside. He has access to a better angle for it, too.

As Deceit works him over from behind, though, Des’ touch falters a little. His breaths turn ragged, and his hips shift more, and he gets a little less coordinated. A little more wanton. It’s a good look on him, though. Fear tilts his face closer, and kisses his forehead, and takes over again for a bit. Slow and steady. Deceit knows the right pace to set, and does a good job holding off, even as their cock starts to look painfully hard. Des’ too, for that matter. Fear guides Des’ hand to his own arousal, pushing more lube towards him. More is always better, in that regard.

“Touch yourself,” Fear instructs.

Des grins, just a little.

“Always so bossy,” he says.

Fear kisses his cheek, pressing close enough to whisper in his ear.

“Yes. Because I am in charge, here.”

Des shivers.

Deceit just hums in agreement, and starts to push their way into Des.

Synchronicity is important in this kind of activity. So is positioning. Des wants to be a sandwich, so, the three of them end up shifting around quite a bit, before getting everyone lined up. Luckily, Deceit is strong, and Fear is stronger; and Des is very fit. But it quickly becomes apparent that the best idea is for Fear to lie on his stomach, and Des to go behind him, and Deceit to go behind Des.

It’s a little more stressful, Fear finds, when he can’t see Des pushing into him. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the odd, heavy stretch, and the breaths brushing the backs of his ears. And he reaches back, and presses a hand to Des’ thigh, as Des kisses the tip of one of his ears.

“You feel so good,” Des tells him.

His hips rock, and then stutter, as Deceit enters him again in turn.

They keep going slow. It sounds like it’s driving Des a little insane, but in a way he enjoys. Fear takes deep breaths, that gradually turn more and more ragged. He gently cants his hips backwards, before long, as his perineum starts to respond pleasantly to the stimulus of Des’ thrusting. Once the warmth and pleasant slide has begun to settle into an easy rhythm, Fear slips a hand down between himself and the floor, and starts circling his clit, too. His vaginal muscles spasm, but with nothing inside, the sensation isn’t painful. Not like it would be with even a finger in there. Fear discovered the full scope of his vaginismus the hard way.

Des thrusts into him a little more firmly, at the same time Deceit does the same to him in turn, and Fear feels their shoulder drag across the carpet. He moves his hand away from Des’ leg in favour of propping himself up a little better. That’s probably going to leave some rug burn. But overall, the sensations are pleasant enough that he isn’t perturbed about it. He keeps on touching himself, imagining the picture Des and Deceit must make behind him. One he’s seen the likes of many times by now. It works more effectively on him than even the feel of Des’ thrusts, and before long, he comes, clenching down a little and wringing a gasp from the elf inside of him.

Deceit goes next. And when Des follows suit, he presses flush to Fear’s back; and Deceit obligingly clings to Des, in turn, and Fear just sighs, squished to the floor by the weight of two warm bodies. Des presses a lazy, sloppy kiss to his shoulder, and murmurs something completely unintelligible; squirming a little, still inside of Fear.

For a few minutes, Fear lets that stand.

Then he starts to sit up again, nudging Des off of his back. The man has gone limp. But Deceit helps shift him, and lets Fear up. Fear checks himself over. Rug burn, certainly, and his ass is a little sore. But not to a concerning degree. It was probably the weight of having two bodies pressing into him, aided by gravity, than anything else. He grabs up some wet wipes, and starts cleaning up before they can make a complete mess of the carpet. Handling Des, too, as Deceit draws in a few deep breaths, and then glances over to where Dirthamen and Selene are touching one another. Watching the three of them, still.

Selene’s face is dark, and her lips are slightly parted; and Dirthamen’s hand is thoroughly buried in her pants.

Fear is not at all surprised when Deceit grabs up the box of condoms again. He tosses some of the sanitary wipes at them, too.

“Clean up properly before you start again,” Fear insists.

Deceit just nods, and duly sets about that task, while Des lounges into Fear’s lap with increasing bonelessness.

“You’re okay?” Des asks him, after a minute.

Fear looks down, and resumes cleaning him up.

“Yes,” he confirms. “You did well.”

Des smiles. Fear imagines he’ll be insufferable about this for _months,_ but he anticipated that going into this. The only two real possibilities were that Des would do well, and therefore be smug, or that he would do poorly, and Fear would end up in the emergency room, and their relationship and Fear’s assessment of it would require some serious review.

This is the good ending.

Fear lets Des cuddle his waist, and sprawl out, and even ventures a few fingers into the strands of his hair.

Meanwhile, Deceit busily sets themselves to the task of helping Selene and Dirthamen to finish undressing. The three of them decide to use the couch to their advantage. Prudent, Fear thinks. He will have to keep that in mind for next time. Selene bends over, as Dirthamen and Deceit prepare her. Fear keeps an eye on her face for signs of discomfort, and after a moment, realizes that Des is doing the same. But their lovers know what they’re doing. Dirthamen’s hands are gentle at her rear, and Deceit pulls back a little to engage in their usual practice of kissing and cuddling, caressing her cheeks and letting their hands wander to her breasts, before the three of them shift their positions around; and Selene settles slowly into Dirthamen’s lap, taking him into her rear by gradual increments.

Deceit takes up position in front of them, and uses their mouth on her, at first. Stimulating her while she adjusts to having Dirthamen inside of her, and Dirthamen, in turn, kisses the back of her neck, and wraps his arms around her. Murmuring things which Fear can’t quite make out.

Des starts touching himself again, as he watches them. His grip firm on his bare flesh, as Deceit checks their condom, and then moves upwards to start pressing into Selene, in turn. Selene gasps as she is filled from both ends; but the position on the couch doesn’t allow for a great deal of freedom of movement. Dirthamen cannot shift around very much, and Deceit has to prop their hands on the backrest. So Selene is pressed between them, the three of them shifting their hips in small increments, as Deceit’s recent activities keep them from mustering up their usual athleticism.

It is _very_ pleasant to look at, though. Selene’s legs wrap around Deceit’s waist, and Dirthamen buries his nose behind her ear, and all three of them let out the occasional breathless, low moan when their movements start to align better, and Dirthamen slouches a little on the couch and shifts the angle, rolling his hips as best he can.

They are at it for a surprisingly long while.

Des strokes himself, and nuzzles his face against Fear’s stomach, and watches with half-lidded eyes.

The highlight, Fear thinks, is when Deceit starts to recover a little more of their usual verve, and begins lifting Selene’s hips up. Dirthamen starts helping with that, and between the two of them, they manage to move her up off Dirthamen’s cock when Deceit thrusts into her, and then back down onto it while Deceit pulls out. Selene starts making some very loud noises, at that point. Her hands searching for purchase, moving from the armrest next to her, to Deceit’s shoulders, to Dirthamen’s thighs. The muscles of her legs start to tremble, and Deceit starts calling her name, and Dirthamen begins to murmur his own pleas.

Des starts stroking himself more intently. Fear reaches down after a moment, though, and stalls his grip.

“Wait,” he advises.

Des licks his lips.

“What for?”

Fear runs his thumb over the back of Des’ hand, and the other man shivers, a little.

“Come when Selene does,” he advises. “Imagine you can feel what she feels.”

The idea seems to go over well. Des glances back towards the trio, and dutifully slows his strokes – just a bit. Toying with himself, trying to build up his arousal, without crossing the line. So that he can crest over it when Selene does. It’s nearly perfect, in the end. Selene stiffens, and cries out in a familiar way; and a moment later, Fear brushes a hand down Des’ chest, and Des pumps himself, and comes onto his stomach.

Fear gives him a moment more in his lap, before he goes and gets more wipes.

He keeps one eye on the continued activities of the others, though, so that he can see when Deceit and Dirthamen follow Selene’s example. Dirthamen takes the longest; but Selene grinds down intently against him, and whispers something in his ear, and he comes with a soft oath.

Fear contemplates the messiness of them all.

He’s probably going to have to help Deceit shower, if the state of them is any indication.

But it was… pleasant, he decides. Worth it. His own skin is tingling, and this will provide the fodder for many evenings where the only touch he is comfortable with is his own. He nods to himself in satisfaction, and then sets about helping with the final rounds of cleanup, and making sure no one injured anything unawares.

He sleeps in his own bed that night, and he sleeps very well.

~

It’s about a month after Gran-Gran’s visit, and Fear is feeling more safely neutral and less reflective over _many_ things again, when Des approaches them about the matter of his and Selene’s lease.

Fear hates Selene and Des’ apartment. This is not a secret. The building defies numerous health and safety code violations. It will not hold up well to earthquakes, the basement frequently floods – which contributes to severe mold problems – Fear is concerned about issues such as asbestos and lead paint, there is no air conditioning, the heating is terrible, security is a joke, and the wallpaper is eye-searing to behold. Fear would not feel entirely comfortable letting wild animals _nest_ in that place; they absolutely object to Des and Selene living there.

But it is not their decision to make.

Even if the amount of money the two are paying for the privilege of ‘nearly dying from black mold spores’ is _obscene._

Fear contemplates the matter carefully, after Des has left. They review the lease, and give further considerations to their plan for finding a suitable new home for all five of them. Deceit and Dirthamen have never been terribly particular about where they all live, just so long as it’s within relative driving distance of the studio, and isn’t next door to Dirthamen’s family (which Fear would object to themselves anyway). Dirthamen is, frankly, the kind of person who could survive in a Harry Potter-esque ‘cupboard-under-the-stairs’ situation if needed. Deceit, though more prone to enjoying certain luxuries and complaining about their absence, is very bad at the procurement end of things. ‘Get some place nice, Fear’ is the usual extent of his involvement on that end.

And Fear _will_ get someplace ‘nice’, of course, because they are not letting them all live in squalor and danger, barely shielded from the elements. Fear did that for eighteen years. It was _unpleasant._

They start looking for brightly-lit neighbourhoods, with reputable school districts, that would not demand heinous commutes of either Des or the band. They do a careful assessment of the financials involved, but also of the psychology involved. Selene is reluctant to move in with them. Reluctance is common of Selene. Fear understands caution, though they don’t always understand why she prefers some risks to others.

Manipulation is inferior to open communication.

Fear considers it anyway. They could easily file a report and actually push to get Selene and Des’ building inspected, and shut down for its violations. It would then only be reasonable to have Selene and Des stay with them while they looked for a new place. Or waited for their old building to come back up to code. That would make it much easier, Fear thinks, to convince Selene to make the move permanent. But… it would also be dishonest, and it would endanger the other occupants of the building, who live there mostly because they cannot _afford_ to live anywhere else. Fear would not be able to find sufficient room and board for all of them.

They put the idea aside.

But they keep looking for houses.

The problem, they soon discover, is that most residences in neighbourhoods that are acceptable, have yards. None of them are the ‘yard work’ type, and hired help could pose a security risk. Fear supposes that they could repurpose some of the yards into low-maintenance rock gardens, or something along those lines, but that would depreciate the value of the property. They do not wish to pay for a yard they will only end up tearing out.

But most of the townhomes are insufficiently secured, and not big enough anyway. Fear is aware that most of them, should they live together, will end up sharing beds the majority of evenings. But everyone _should_ have their own room and space, should they need it, as well. Retreats are mandatory. Des might complain, but he will not actually be deprived of affection or bed partners just because it isn’t a requirement of limited space – Fear hopes he learns this better as things go on.

They expand their searches to apartments, but most of the ones which meet all of their requirements are expensive enough to actually press their finances past the point of comfort. That makes them ‘high risk’, Fear thinks, because if they actually run into trouble, Dirthamen might do something stupid like go to his family.

Finally, though, their search turns up a good candidate. A two-story house with a finished basement, in a quiet neighbourhood. High, sturdy stone fencing, but very little in the way of yard; there are a few ornamental trees in front, but most of the landscaping has been taken over by a large garage, which could easily be repurposed as an at-home studio. Six bedrooms, three and a half baths… the kitchen is dated, but that is easy enough to rectify, and most of the failures are cosmetic.

It is _well_ within budget, too.

Fear goes to inspect the property by themselves, for the first time. There is a security system installed, but it needs upgrading. There is no basement door, which is good, and the windows are too narrow for most grown burglars to fit through, even if they were broken or left open. Some of the windows on the second story are a little too large, but only in a way that makes Fear nebulously uncomfortable. The main window in their apartment’s sitting room does that sometimes, too. The building will require many modifications and a professional inspection, but Fear does a thorough tour before deciding that it may be suitable.

For the second visit, they bring Selene.

Convincing her to come is easy. Fear says “would you mind running an errand with me?” and Selene says “sure”, and then gets distracted talking about her part-time work up until the point where they are pulling into the driveway, with the real estate agent already waiting for them.

Selene blinks.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“A property,” Fear informs her, which earns them a wry look, until they elaborate. “I have been looking into purchasing an investment home. The market in this area is promising, and it would be more economically sound than continuing to pay rent.” There is a benefit to the concept of rent, of course, but Fear honestly would prefer investing their pay into equity over monthly bills that essentially vanish in terms of their finances.

Selene looks suspicious. But then the real estate agent approaches them, and the presence of the unfamiliar vashoth woman has her biting back whatever comment she had been on the verge of making.

As they go through the house, in fact, Selene becomes more and more interested in the building, and what Fear intends to change about it, and what the real estate agent is saying. Her eye for numbers make it easy to get her onto the track of considering the financial information and projections which Fear quietly hands to her, as they go along, and she seems very interested in the fact that renovating certain rooms – like the kitchen, and one of the bathrooms – will allow Fear to essentially customize the space.

And she likes the trees.

“I think it’s a good house,” she declares, once they are through.

Fear inclines their head.

“Yes, it’s the most promising one so far,” they agree.

There is a moment of silence. Selene shifts in the passenger seat.

“It’ll be more expensive for the three of you, though,” she reasons.

“We can cover it,” Fear counters. “And it may be much more worthwhile, in the long term.”

Selene nods, and glances at them. And then she shifts around some more.

“Des and I are renewing our lease,” she declares.

“On your deathtrap?” Fear mutters, signalling their next turn. Selene gives them a reproachful look.

“It’s not a _deathtrap,”_ she insists.

“I disagree.”

“Well, it’s not your call,” Selene counters. “It’s ours. And it’s not that… it’s just that… look, there are some things that are… it’s…”

Fear waits.

After a moment, Selene lets out a gusty breath.

“You don’t want to live with us,” Fear surmises.

“No!” Selene says. And then shakes her head. “Yes! I mean… it’s complicated. Please don’t ask me why. It’s not you guys, it’s just… at the very least, we shouldn’t be rushing into things, right? I mean. Big decisions, and all.”

Fear glances at her, and finds her look away from them. Out the window, and towards the road.

They sigh.

“If you want to continue paying for the privilege of your deathtrap, I will not interfere,” they say. “But I cannot think of a single good reason not to allocate one of the rooms in that house to you. You spend enough time with us that it’s only practical. I wouldn’t expect you to visit any less just because we moved, the house isn’t even much further from your current _domicile_ than our apartment is. And I would feel better if you worked from somewhere that is not rampant with toxic spores, and actually has a suitable work surface, so I would consider it a personal favour if you spent a good deal of time there, even if you would rather put your money towards your lyrium-dealer-adjacent-‘loft’.”

Selene blinks at them, and stills.

“What?” she asks.

Fear is a little taken aback by the sharpness in her tone.

“I… only meant that I would not stop you from keeping the apartment, either way…” they offer.

“No, at the end,” Selene says. “What the hell makes you think there are lyrium dealers in our building?”

Fear blinks.

“The fact that there are?” they offer. “The green patterning on the edges of your kitchen tiles? That is typically caused by chemicals that are used to reduce lyrium potency, reacting with the grout. It sometimes shows up in medical or scientific research buildings, too, but somehow I doubt that your downstairs neighbours are just really enthusiastic about the local science fairs.”

Selene looks more intensely disquieted than Fear expected.

“I didn’t think the carta operated out of this city,” she says.

Fear considers her for a moment, before they have to focus on the road again.

“They do not. Or, not as far as I know. Mostly because the criminal activities in this city are under the purview of elven organized crime families. They are responsible for the majority of bribes in the city, meaning the police tend to arrest carta members on sight, but somehow never seem to notice the lyrium dens or meth labs located in alienages.”

Some of the sudden tensing of Selene’s shoulders relaxes.

But only a little.

“Is something wrong?” they ask, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Selene lets out a breath, and shakes her head.

“I just… didn’t think something that would be so close,” she murmurs.

Fear nods in understanding.

“This is one of the reasons why I think your building is unsafe,” they point out. But not harshly. Selene isn’t naïve, they know. The world is often replete with nasty surprises that none of them, on their own, are wholly capable of anticipating.

The rest of the drive back is quiet, though.

Selene doesn’t bring up the subject of leases and houses again. Fear takes Dirthamen and Deceit and Des to see the new place. Des, predictably, thinks there are more rooms than they need, and doesn’t like all the things that Fear has already decided to change. Deceit is much the same, but also claims one of the bedrooms and starts poking through catalogues, expressing opinions on refrigerators and bathroom flooring. And Dirthamen simply deems it all ‘acceptable’.

Selene and Des start staying over at the apartment more.

There is a fight between them, Fear thinks. Or… possibly not a fight. But an intensely emotional discussion. They are not present for it, but they can detect signs of the aftermath. Des goes looking for affection and reassurance, and Selene veers off, becoming more detached, more hesitant. Trying to gain some distance, perhaps.

Fear can understand that.

She still helps them make dinner in the evening, and sits with them for while on the balcony afterwards.

They contemplate matters.

“When I was a child,” they begin. “My parents were intensely unpredictable people. Their demeanours tended to shift depending on the state of our finances. When I was younger, they were more generous. Affectionate. Forgiving. But when I was around ten, my father lost his job – and never managed to find a new one in the bottom of all the bottles he checked. There were windfalls, and things got better when there were. But that happened less and less often, the older I became. Deceit’s grandmothers let me stay over, a lot, which was good. When I was fourteen they offered to let me move in. But I declined.”

Selene looks over at them, and hugs her arms around herself a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” she offers.

Fear shrugs.

“It wasn’t as bad as some,” they allow. “The point is, every year, Gran-Gran and Nona offered to just take me in. After a while, I could hardly even pretend that my parents would try and stop them. That wasn’t why I hesitated, anyway. I think I always had a predilection towards neurosis, but. Finances are a difficult thing for a child to predict. I would have had better luck if my parents’ mood swings depended on lunar cycles or star charts. _Those,_ I could have learned. Not knowing if I would go home and find a warm welcome, decent food, and off-colour jokes, or a locked door with a passive-aggressive note on it, or shouting and fists, made obsessing over everything that might negatively impact my living situation perilously easy.”

Selene puts a hand on their arm. When they do not brush it off, she leans into them a little. Pleasantly warm. Fear shifts her grip down just enough to lace their fingers together.

“I was afraid that if I lived with Deceit, and his grandmothers, that… one day I would go home to them, and they would just start screaming at me. Or lock the door. Turn me away. And then what would I do?”

They go quiet. Letting the admission linger. Trying not to remember the first time they had come home from school to find the house dark, and all the doors sealed, and that note pinned to the front one. _If you’re not going to come home on time, don’t bother coming home at all._ They had tried so hard to never be late, after that. It had taken them two years to figure out that the pattern wasn’t determined by the time Fear got home, but rather, by whether or not their parents wanted to stay out all night.

They preferred locking Fear out to leaving the doors unsealed, and risking someone sneaking in and robbing them.

“It is alright, if you are afraid,” they venture at last, to Selene. “I understand.”

Selene turns her face in towards their shoulder.

She doesn’t really answer them. She just cries on them a while. That’s alright, too, though. Fear was planning to do laundry tomorrow anyway. Eventually it gets too cold to keep lingering poetically on balconies, though, and so they nudge Selene back inside. She hugs them, says something _utterly_ unintelligible into their chest, and then goes to find Des.

The two of them stay the night.

Fear is unsure what they will decide. Or. Well. What _Selene_ will decide.

They buy the house, regardless.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback/Backstory Part one

Era'harel joins clan Ralaferin when he is still a toddler.

His name was different before then. Sweeter, like music when it rolled off of his parents tongues.

But he can’t remember it, when he is found. He tries to, tries to remember the way his parents smiled at him, and held him, and how they would call for him near cobbled stones and ratted ceilings. He recalls the warmth, and the love, and the way the sunlight streamed through endless branches of a giant tree in a courtyard. But no matter how he tries, he can not recall the words, in the end.

As he grows, he doesn’t think it matters anymore.

“Era'harel,” They call him, as he is taught to string a bow and clean a corpse and sit quietly for a hunt. Something to make him useful, something so he can earn his keep in the clan with no parents and no family to care for him. Some of the members are kind, and he bounces from aravel to aravel wherever room can be spared. Wherever there is a spare bit of love he can snag, or warmth he can gather and tuck away for later.

He is thirteen when he goes to his first Arlathvhen.

It is loud, and raucous and he _loves_ it.

There are so many other elven children to run with and dance with and kiss with, and he discovers that he really, _really_ likes kissing behind the closed flap of a tent.

Or what he thought was a closed flap, until he hears the giggling, and spies several sets of eyes peeking through the cloth like sunlight through branches.

It doesn’t bother him, but the other boy blushes and giggles and runs back to the main events with a quick pardon.

He frowns, left alone again and not quite sure where he went wrong, but doesn’t think anything more of it.

By the end of the Arlathvhen, he has been traded to the other boys clan, anyways.

“Alaris, First of Clan Lavellan,” he reintroduces himself, as though his tongue had not been down his throat a few days prior.

Era'harel nods, and introduces himself again as Alaris takes him on a tour of the clan site. Lavellan is more centralized than Ralaferin had been. More of its members are reliant on crops and trade than hunts and livestock.

It’s nice, but it’s also much, _much_ more boring.

  
The hunting team is smaller, so his workload increases substantially despite it being a less necessary trade here. Hunting becomes a daily ritual, rather than a weekly one. He hates it, really. No time to do anything else, just a repetitive, monotonous list of daily tasks. Wake up too early, fletch some arrows for the following day, inspect the ones from the day before, hunt, clean the kill, eat, sleep, repeat.

 _Ugh_.

At least his dreams are vivid. Parties and people and never having to touch another bow in his _life_. Visions of massive trees in courtyards, music, laughter. _Freedom_.

He’s grateful that he’s been taken in by the Dalish, really. They could have left him to die, and there’s always one or two members that won’t let him forget it. But he watches the ink on the faces of the other hunters, the bow permanently scrawled over the features, and feels sick at the permanence of it. At being permanently tied some predetermined role that he hates. Life is meant to be enjoyed.

No one else seems to _get_ that.

And then the wyverns come. A small grouping wanders too close to the camp, picking off their usual prey and the hunters all have to scare them off, or hunt them down.

Arrows whiz past his ears, long dark hair blowing past his peripheral vision in the aftermath. The wyverns remain, screeching, and dart towards the group. The hunters leap, climb into the trees effortlessly, as they have done countless times before.

Era'harel stumbles, and falls back onto solid ground. Three scaled down dragons barrel towards him and he panics. He stands, and looses a fireball, managing to strike one right in the eye as it lets out an ear-splitting shriek.

The other two don’t even pause, and one slams straight into his ribs before he can run, knocking him flat on his back. The other hunters call for him, and the wyvern rears its head up, teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he prepares for his death.

Several arrows thunk into it before it can tear out his throat, and the beast collapses, dead, on top of him.

Which would be less of an issue, he thinks, if they were not so _heavy_.

Another hunter slashes the throat of the already blinded wyvern, and the last is taken care of in short order before they are able to pull the carcass off of him. His ribs are crushed, he feels as though his entire body has been flattened out like jerky, and every step he tries to take sends another shot of pain straight through his body.   
The hunters that are not busy bundling up the wyverns help carry Era'harel back into the clan, and into the healers aravel. They dump him (rather roughly, if you ask him) into the empty patients hammock before leaving to finish the hunt.

Alone again, he sighs. Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t as his ribs press painfully back into him with the deep breath.

“You look like hell,” comes a soft voice from behind a shelving unit full of salves and potions. “What did you do?”

“I killed a dragon.” Era'harel lies with a smug grin.

The girl doesn’t seem to believe him, on any account. White hair braided down her back, a small curl wisping over her forehead as she strides towards him in traditional healers garb.

She pokes and prods and hems and haws at him, and he relaxes at the attention, until he realizes something odd.

“You look like you’re my age.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Then I’d say that makes sense, since we _are_ the same age.” she quips.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“I’m not always around. The last few years my time has been split between the trade routes and, well,” she gestures to the space around them “being locked away in here.”

Era'harel blinks “They let you go on the trade expeditions?”

“Mm-hm,” the girl grins “I’m good with numbers, and Keeper agrees that I need to get out of my fathers shadow from time to time.”

“Do you get to go into the cities?”

“Sure do.”

Era'harel thinks of giant trees and laughter and ratted roofs, and how much he misses these things he scarcely remembers.

“Could you take me with you?”

She blinks.

“I…don’t know. We need the hunters here, for food. There’s only about six of you.”

“Well there’s only two healers, and they let _you_ go.” he points out.

“That’s…” she frowns. “I mean, you’re right, but I don’t know…”

“What don’t you know?”

“You, for starters.”

Era'harel thinks that’s probably fair, and gives her the best semblance of a wave and a charming smile as he can manage in his current situation, and introduces himself.

“That’s a weird name.” she comments. “They named you ‘demon mage’?”

“It’s not like _I_ picked it,” he gripes. “So what’s your name then, Ms.-hyper-critical-of-naming-customs?”

“…Sulvuna.”

“Oh, 'alive’. That’s _much_ better.” He snickers.

Sulvuna turns red beneath the strands of her hair that have come loose in the humidity of the aravel before she pokes him harder than is necessary for her inspection in the ribs. He yelps in pain, and notes the flat 'oops’ she gives him in lieu of an actual apology.

She does end up asking if he can go along on the trade routes though. She even goes so far as to lie for him, claiming that his injuries will require more recovery time before he can shoot an arrow or cast a spell correctly. Her father scoffs and derides her for it, and Era'harel pretends not to hear him calling her a disgrace, or notice that it’s the first thing he’s said to her in the week he’s spent resting in their hammock.

Still.

She was willing to stick her neck out for him. He should do something in return, probably.

They’re on the road with another elf, a slightly older one who is far taller than any elf really has the right to be with bright orange hair, (“His name’s _Haleir_ ,” Sulvuna informs him from beneath rosy cheeks and eyes that are trying to act like they aren’t focused on him for half their trip) who is in charge of the actual trades. Lots of exchanges made over the years, and Era'harel notices the gifts Haleir buys for Sulvuna on their trips. Nothing extravagant, some clothes and foods and most notably a smooth stone in the shape of a crescent moon that she keeps tucked away on her person, even when they are back at camp.

He also notices Haleir giving gifts to several other members of the clan, when Sulvuna isn’t looking.

When they are eighteen and he and Sulvuna consider each other best friends even in the daylight, they go into town with Haleir for the umpteenth time. But their first night, Haleir sends him away. Some errand he says needs to be double checked, and Era'harel goes without question.

When he returns, he finds Haleir asleep beneath the covers of the bed, and Selene with tear streaks down her face, her dress torn and shredded and hanging off her shoulders.

He’s frozen in the doorway, her gaze going right through him. Empty, hollow.

Hurt.

And then he is _angry._ He doesn’t ask what happened, doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to make her say it when he’s seen the looks and he’s seen the signs and he still trusted them here alone together and he was wrong, he was so wrong, he should have been looking out for her, he’s supposed to be her friend _damn it_.

Era'harel drags Haleir out of bed, slamming him to the floor and shocking him awake.

“What the _fuck-_ ” Haleir screams.

“How dare you!” Era'harel interrupts “How dare you, she trusted you, the clan trusted you and then you turn around and pull this sort of shit, you _fucking monster_ -!”

“Era-” Sulvuna whispers, moving to stand from the bed. Haleir speaks again and she winces, immediately sitting down as he starts yelling excuses to Era'harel about how it wasn’t his fault, and of course she wanted it too, she just doesn’t know how to have a good time, and it’s right around this time that he stops listening and smashes his fist into the side of Haleirs jaw, instead.

Sulvuna freezes, stunned, still caught trying to figure out what the best course of action might be. Haleir, clearly unused to being held accountable for his own actions, is momentarily stunned as well before he pulls back and strikes at Era'harel, who narrowly ducks out of the way and uses the momentum to slam Haleir face down onto the bed, twisting his arms painfully behind his back until he’s screaming in pain instead of anger, and pleading to be let go.

“Apologize.” Era'harel grits out.

Haleir is silent, until his arm is twisted tighter behind him, and he yells once more before finally saying “Fine, _fine_!” he turns his head slightly, to look at Sulvuna “Sorry for giving exactly what you wanted you fuckin-”

“That is _not_ an apology!” Era'harel roars, before kneeing him as hard as he can in the groin and slamming the taller elf back into the wall. Haleir crumples to the floor, unconscious, while Sulvuna stares uncertainly back at Era'harel.

“I…thank…thank you?” She manages, voice scratchy and raw enough to break on the higher tones.

He sighs, and pulls her tightly into his arms. Tries to emulate what he knows is supposed to be reassuring. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her hair. “I shouldn’t have left.”

“It wasn’t your fault…” She whispers back, arms awkwardly coming up to wrap back around him. “You didn’t know. I didn’t know. These things happen.”

“That’s _not_ \- That’s not true, Sulvuna. The world doesn’t have to be like this. Not everyone is like him, I’ve slept with plenty of people, and _none of them were_ -none of them did anything like this! You’re not supposed to!”

“It doesn’t matter.” she whispers back with a shake of her head “It doesn’t-I don’t..It doesn’t matter. It happened, and nothing I do will change that. I just…can we…can we go for a walk or something? I’d really like to…to not be here, right now.”

“Yeah,” Era'harel swallows, handing her his traveling cloak. “Yeah, wherever you want to go.”

She nods, and thanks him as she dons his cloak, and they step back out into the hallway.

They end up walking all the way back to the clan, without Haleir, and without going back.

Era'harel confronts her father first. He’s a healer, and he’s her father, and that means he should be the one to help her here, right? You’re supposed to see a doctor after stuff like this, he’s pretty sure.

But it becomes clear early into the conversation, Sulvuna thankfully still outside, that Elrogathe has no desire to try to fix the situation.

“I don’t see the problem.” He shrugs without even looking up from his work.

“You’re shitting me, right? Haleir raped your daughter, and you 'don’t see the problem’?”

“Haleir is going to be bonded to Sulvuna soon, and then she will be expected to have relations with him regularly so that they can have children and strengthen the clan.”

“And if he knocked her up already?” Era'harel manages through grit teeth.

“Then for once in her life, my daughter will be ahead of the curve.”

The nonchalance grates at him. He should care, he should _love_ her, parents are supposed to love their children. Era'harel can not even remember his parents faces, but even _he_ knows that. Purple flames lick at his arm, and Elrogathe finally glances up from his work table when he smells the smoke.

“Please do not set the aravel on fire. It would set me back by months on work.”

“What is _wrong_ with you? Doesn’t Sulvuna matter to you at all?! Isn’t her well-being _important_ to you?”

“Sulvuna is important to the clan. Her mother and I are both from long lines of Dalish blood, as are Haleir and his parents. I wouldn’t expect a shemlen like you to understand.”

“Ex _cuse_ you?”

“Do you prefer demon spawn, then? I assumed Shemlen was the polite thing to call you.”

“I am not-my parents were-”

“Your mother was a whore from the city, who ran away when your father was slaughtered by templars. Keeper Ralaferin found her standing over you, already a demon, an abomination given in to her sin entirely. Ralaferin has always been a soft clan. They slew her to save her, and took you in in the hopes that a proper upbringing could make you better. An offering of repentance to the gods, to show that even the doomed could be saved.” Elrogathe leans back in his chair, raising one eyebrow. “They were wrong, of course. We took you in, because we needed more hunters. But a demon dressed as an elf is still a demon in the end. You are still not one of us, nor will you ever be. And the next time you fall ill, do not expect me to save you. It is not worth wasting the resources anymore.”

“That’s _**enough**_.” Sulvuna insists from the doorway, fists tight at her sides. “You are being needlessly cruel. Era'harel is a good person-”

“We call him demon for a reason, Sulvuna-”

“And yet his heart is kinder than yours.”

Elrogathe tsks, and returns to his work as Sulvuna snags Era'harel hand in hers and drags him out of the aravel.

“I’m sorry, for what he said.” she apologizes. “He was out of line.”

“Is it true?”

Sulvuna blinks.

“Is it true?” Era'harel repeats, more insistently.

“I…I don’t know,” she admits. “I’ve never known him to lie, though.”

It stings. It stings, the only thing anyone has told him about his parents in years, and it’s _this_. Slaughtered, given in to temptation. Temptation he’s been eyeing himself, in dreams. Memories tainted, smiles and warmth and love all ended with blades.

His end too, probably.

Sulvuna hugs him.

She doesn’t say anything, usually not one to initiate physical contact, especially given recent events, but she steps in and wraps her arms around him and pulls him into her until his head is on her shoulder and he returns the embrace.

And then he cries. He cries, and he howls for the first time in his memory as she holds him and hums old songs into his ear, and takes him to one of their more secluded spaces in the woods, one of their bottles of alcohol still hidden in the trunk of the tree.

They stay there like that until the sun begins to set. Sulvuna still stroking his back gently, soothingly. 

Lovingly.

“We should leave.” She muses.

He scoffs.

“I’m serious.” she says.

He lifts his head, pulling back from her and wiping at his face as he makes eye contact. 

She certainly _seems_ serious.

“Where would we go?” He asks, warming up the the idea the more he considers it.

“Anywhere,” Sulvuna shrugs “Anywhere we wanted, that’s the point. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Reinvent ourselves, start from scratch. I’ve got some things we could sell, and we both know how much things are worth, and we could go. We could go anywhere.”

“Let’s do it.”

She nods. “Pack a bag. We’ll head out in…an hour?”

Era'harel grins. “I love you.”

She snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

–

They leave that night, and travel to the nearest city to find a bus. They take the bus for a few days, until nothing is familiar anymore, until no one’s heard of their clans, or anyone linked to their clans. Until Era'harel is sure he’s too far for it to be where he was born.

“We should rename ourselves.” he decides over a burger and fries at a small diner. And gods, he is _not_ going to miss having to kill something to eat meat.

“You think so?”

He nods. “We hate these names anyways. Why drag them into our new life? If we’re gonna start over, let’s go full balls to the wall.”

Sulvuna laughs. Light and easy, and more freely than he thinks he’s ever seen her laugh back with the clan. “Ok, sure. What do you want me to call you?”

He ponders it for a moment, before the perfect name hits him, and his face splits into a grin. “ _Desire.”_

Sulvuna almost chokes on her milkshake. “Oh, surely something more modest and _subtle_ for someone like you would be better.” she teases.

“Nah, I like Desire. Des, in fact. Des has a nice ring to it.” 

Like reclaiming the very thing they tried to condemn him for, he thinks. Fuck them. They want to keep it hidden behind closed doors, like some shameful secret? He’ll wear it as a badge of pride, instead.

And besides, he _knows_ he looks good. No one would argue it.

“What about you?” he asks.

Sulvuna ponders the question for a moment, nodding decisively and declaring “Selene. I like Selene.”

“That’s like a moon thing, right?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Suits you. Hair like moonlight. People will write _poetry_ about you.” He teases with a waggle of his eyebrows.

She laughs again. “I doubt that.”

“You never know,” Des smirks “Our future looks bright, after all.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback/Backstory Part Two

Des finds living in a city to be much more suitable to his tastes.

He sells his bow, first. Even manages to get a bit more for it than it’s really worth because it’s ‘authentic’. More likely to be sold to a collector than anyone around here who would actually use it anyways, he supposes. Suits him fine, he’s got no use for anything from his time in the clan.

Selene stays pointedly silent about the single arrow he keeps on the top shelf of their closet.

Their first apartment is a sty. It’s old, and it’s got mold instead of molding, but it’s big enough for the both of them to fit into its one bedroom and cram together on a twin size mattress while they try to figure out what to do with their lives now.

'Endless possibilities’ are more daunting than he thought they would be.

Selene gets into the local university, gets a scholarship to get her through her classes, and decides after her first semester that she’d like to be a teacher, preferably for mathematics.

Which is great, for her.

Des still doesn’t know quite what he’d like to do himself.

Selene asks him to go to school with her, but he’s seen the workload and the stress and the schedule she’s required to take with that, and being forced into another niche just feels like making the same mistake over again. So he declines, as politely as he can, and looks for work himself.

When he comes home with three months of his share of rent in his pocket one night, Selene freaks.

“Did you rob a bank?” she squeaks as she holds them up to the light.

“Oh please, like I’d need to.” Des scoffs back.

“Where did you-how did you get this much _money_?”

“Turns out people will pay really well for a good blowjob in this town.”

Selene immediately drops the bills in her hand to the floor as though they had burned her.

“Des…” she says, very slowly “That’s prostitution.”

“I’m familiar with the term, yes.”

“That’s _illegal_.” she hisses.

“That’s why it pays in _cash,_ ” he shoots back. “No taxes. Smart, right?”

“No. No, it’s not. You need to find another line of work.”

“But look at this! If I keep this up, you won’t even have to work anymore, you can just focus on school-”

“I don’t mind working, Des,” She assures him. “I’d feel better if you did a job that was less…dangerous.”

“There’s nothing inherently dangerous about _sex_ , Selene-”

“You don’t even have a doctor yet,” She lectures. “How are you going to get tested? How will you stay healthy? What if you get forced into doing something you don’t want to do by a pushy customer? What if you get arrested and sent to the templars, and I can’t _help_ you?”

“What if I get murdered by a client and left in a ditch somewhere-” he drawls.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but…Yeah!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air.

“You’re being paranoid.”

“I’m being _realistic_.”

“So I’ll be careful about who I take on, then!”

“And how will you know who the dangerous ones are?”

“I’m good with people, Selene, you know that! I’ll be able to tell, just trust me.”

“I trust _you_ , Des, it’s other people that we can’t trust. You never know what they’re capable of-”

“I will know, I’ve got a sense about these things-”

“You didn’t know with Haleir!” she finally yells, shoulders high and tight with her face red as she takes heavy breaths.

Des is silent, his own shoulders dropping as he runs a hand through his hair. “Shit…I didn’t…I’m not gonna..”

“I didn’t think I would either. No one does, until it happens,” she whispers. She lets out a heavy sigh and drags her hand down her face. “If you’re really…if this is _really_ what you want to do Des…I’ll support you in your decision. But you have to be smart about it. Get a doctor. Stock up on condoms and whatever else you might need. Don’t use your real name, old or new. We’ll…we’ll do some research, somehow, alright? But give it…” she looks at the pile of money “Give it two months, ok? Try to find something else, see if there’s _anything_ else that might work for you, or interest you. If in two months you still really think this is what you _want_ to do, we’ll find a way to make it work. Just…don’t dive straight into it this early, ok? For me?”

“…I don’t know if I _can_ do anything else, Selene.” he admits.

She steps forward, hand gentle on the back of his head as she places a soft kiss to his forehead. “You can do anything you set your mind on Des. It’s ok if it takes a little time to get there.”

He breathes.

Closes his eyes and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him and so, so thankful to not be doing this alone.

“Two months.” he agrees.

“Thank you,” she smiles. He smiles back, nuzzling his face into her neck affectionately. Selenes eyes turn back to the pile of bills on the table. “…just how many blowjobs did you give today?”

  
“Mm…like…seven, I think?”

She pats him twice on the back before taking a step away. “Right. Go brush your teeth. Use the mouthwash, please. Twice maybe, for good measure.”

“Awww, but Sel _eeeeeene_!” he teases, puckering up his lips.

“Do _**not!**_ ” she warns, snagging a cushion off the couch and holding it between them as he tries to close the gap. He laughs, arms out and fingers wiggling, revealing his plan to tickle her until she succumbs. She yelps and laughs and runs around the couch until he manages to pin her, tickling her up and down her sides until she accidentally kicks him, hard, off of her.

“Ok, ok! I surrender!” He laughs, hands held up while she remains crouched behind the cushion, poised to run again like a cornered animal.

“Go on then.” she says skeptically, watching as he makes his way into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, gargling twice as she asked.

When he steps back into the living room, she’s let her hair down from its usual ponytail, relaxed out on the couch with one of her textbooks in her lap. He plops down in its spot, giving just enough time for her to lift the book out of his way as he settles between her legs.

“Comfortable?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Best spot in the house.” He grins back, even as she shakes her head and goes back to her studies.

He supposes he should start looking for another line of work.

Tomorrow.

–

Des tries working at the grocer down the street, first. They don’t need any experience, and the customers like his conversations while he’s bagging their purchases. The pay is decent, but he’s _bored_.

A manager catches him napping in the back while he’s supposed to be helping with inventory, and he ends up fired after only two weeks.

Selenes not thrilled with the news, but doesn’t begrudge him for it.

“We knew it would be temporary,” she shrugs “It’s not the end of the world.”

He tries a bookstore, next. That one only lasts a few days, his personality apparently far too 'loud’ for the environment.

“That’s alright,” she says “I’m sure we’ll find you someplace else to fit in.”

The florist, the baker, the diner down the street. Something goes wrong at all of them, over the course of his two months given time limit. Selene doesn’t say anything when their stated deadline comes and goes.

Des doesn’t go back to sex work, anyways.

He does stop in for a drink at a bar near the car shop he just got rejected from, though. Flips through the menus on his prepaid cell phone, until he finds the internet browser and checks the job list site for new postings.

Nothing.

He lets out a groan, and bangs his head once on the counter.

“Something bothering you pal?” Asks a raspy voice from the other side.

Des glances up, and makes eye contact with an older dwarven woman. Dark hair, an amber complexion and a wonderfully pronounced nose sitting on her face.

She looks particularly unimpressed with his own appearance.

That’s fair though he thinks, he hadn’t worn one of his better outfits for fear of getting grease on it today.

“I’m having trouble making an 'honest living’.” he admits, with air quotes.

“You and half the people in this town,” she notes. “How long you been looking?”

“A little over two months now.”

“That’s not too bad. You have to support anyone else?”

“Nah, my roommates got her stuff all sorted. I’m just the mess holding her back.”

“Oh, now _there’s_ a winners attitude,” she snorts. “You got a skill set?”

“I’m good with people, taking leadership in a situation, and following instructions.” he lists off mechanically.

“Any of those true?”

“I _am_ good with people.”

She nods. “Can you mix drinks?”

“Sure.”

“Interested in learning how to do it right?”

Des blinks.

Blinks again.

And his face splits into a grin as he rights himself and tries his best to be charming. “I’m _always_ interested in doing it right,” he winks.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make me regret this. I could use an extra hand around here so I can focus on a personal project. Come around the side of the bar, and we’ll see what you can do.”

Des hops up from his chair and happily swings around to stand beside the dwarven woman. He reaches over to finish his drink, and she smacks the back of his hand with a coaster.

“First rule,” she lectures. “No drinking on the job.”

Des pouts, but doesn’t argue.

He could _really_ use the work.

–

The bar job ends up sticking. Carina even trusts Des to bartend on his own after a week or so, for a couple hours at a time during the day.

Selene stops in one day when class lets out early, to check in. Des eagerly waves her over to one of the bar stools.

“What’ll you have, cutie?” he grins at her.

“Just a water, thanks.”

Des rolls his eyes, and pours her some water over ice, sticking a lime wedge on the edge of her glass just because he can.

“It’s nice,” Selene comments as she looks around. “Nicer than I thought it’d be.”

“Thanks, I try to keep a clean house,” Carina pipes up as she walks out of her office, striding towards the pair. “You must be Selene. Des never shuts up about you.”

“Ah…yeah,” Selene stammers, quickly rising from the bar stool and holding out her hand. “I’m-I’m Selene. That’s me. Yesseree.”

“Carina,” she introduces as she shakes Selenes hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You are also a pleasure! I mean-that’s not-I mean I’m sure you are, but I wasn’t-..I didn’t mean like…” Selene groans. “It’s…it’s nice to meet you, I’ll just… be heading on out then.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Carina laughs. “It’s cute. You’re more than welcome to stay, if you want.”

“I…” Selene hesitates and looks over at Des. He gives her a knowing grin, and nods in approval. “I’d love to. Thank you.” She finally manages.

Des just smiles and pours each of them a cranberry vodka.

Ah, matchmaking.

It’s so nice when things work out.

–

Carina and Selenes relationship continues to develop, with dates and dinners and weird math and science talk that Des can’t quite keep up with, but they’re both happy so it doesn’t bother him.

After Selenes first year of school, she and he move into another apartment complex. One closer to school for her, and walking distance of the bar, for him. No mold this time, and they can even fit a dresser into the bedroom with their bed.

Des is quietly glad that Carina doesn’t seem to mind the vague relationship going on between himself and Selene. They’re not quite a _thing_. He’s still sleeping with other people (just for fun instead of for money), and she’s still dating Carina afterall. When he has company Selene usually crashes at her place or on the couch, and when Selene is at Carinas and he doesn’t have company, he just goes out and finds some.

It’s not a _problem_.  
He just has trouble sleeping alone in a bed, is all.

It’s still a little jarring the first time Selene refers to Carina as her girlfriend.

“You’re banging my boss,” Des sighs, trying to joke it away “My innocent little elven friend, all grown up.”

“I’m not 'banging’ Carina,” Selene argues as she places her mug down on their makeshift coffee table “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Des blinks. “Seriously? It’s been almost a year.”

“We’re taking it slow.”

“Like a _glacier_.”

“We kiss!”

“ _We_ kiss,” Des points out. “Seriously? Poor Carina.”

Selene pouts, then slouches back into the couch beside him. “Am I a bad girlfriend?”

“Probably not. If you’re not comfortable with her though, you owe it to her to be honest.”

“I am comfortable with her though. I _want_ to have sex with her, I’m just…nervous, maybe?”

Des nods in understanding, turning on the couch to face her and shifting until his legs are crossed in front of him. “Does she know?”

Selene hesitates. “I haven’t told her. I think she’s figured out that something happened, though. She’s brilliant, and she usually knows when I want to stop before I do.”

“You gotta have the talk,” he advises. When Selene just gives him a blank look in return, he continues. “You know, 'the talk’? You two bare your souls, decide where you want to go with the relationship, and potentially declare your love for each other, etcetera, etcetera.”

“You watch _way_ too many rom-coms.”

“I have a lot of free time.” he shrugs.

Selene just shakes her head.

Shakes it some more.

Then lets out a breath and begins to slowly nods.

“You’re right,” she admits. “You’re right, I’ve just got to-to own up to it. It’s fine! It’ll probably go well. Or she’ll abandon me forever, and I’ll regret this for the rest of my life, but, you know.”

“She’s not going to abandon you,” Des assures her. “Carinas crazy for you. _Trust_ me.”

Selene bites down on her bottom lip, and nods. “Ok. Ok. Ok, alright, I can do this.”

“Yes you can.” Des repeats, planting a quick kiss on Selenes cheek. “Go get her girl.”

Selene nods, determinedly rising from the couch and snagging her coat from the back of the couch before heading out of the apartment.

Des stretches out on the couch.

It’s good Selene is moving forward, he thinks.

Now if he could just…catch up.

–

Des is right, of course. Carina doesn’t abandon Selene after they have the talk, and their relationship gets more serious and they end up having sex for their one year anniversary.

And then Selene finds out what Des has known for years, and sex can be _fantastic_ , and ends up spending more nights at Carinas than in their own shared apartment.

He’d hesitate to call himself 'lonely’, since he’s got no end of suitors or bed mates. But he misses her. Carina’s better at helping her study, so she’s barely even home to do _that_ anymore.

He’d hesitate to call himself lonely.

But he can’t seem to find a better term for what he’s going through, either.

He’s pouring an ale for one of the bars regulars one night. A slower night than usual, only one or two patrons in the whole place.

“Hey,” the dwarf sniffs “You got any hobbies?”

Des raises an eyebrow “What sort of hobbies?”

A small, sealed bag is slid across the counter top, towards Des.

He knows what it is as soon as his fingers touch the plastic around the crushed blue mineral. His body knows it, his magic knows it, thrumming beneath his skin.

“First ones free. I like you, kid. You don’t water down the drinks here. We appreciate it.”

Des hesitates.

Then he carefully pockets the bag, and tops off the dwarves glass. “And we’re always glad to have your patronage.”

He doesn’t touch it again until he gets home and empties the tips out of his pockets. The bag falls unceremoniously onto the breakfast bar, and he stares at it for a moment. Tries to talk himself out of it.

Lyrium is _dangerous_. It’s addictive. He hasn’t even opened the bag, and his bodies already reacting to the stuff.

It’s a bad idea all around.

He leaves it on top of the bar and steps away. Watches a movie, waits for Selene to get home.

Around 3:15am, he gets a text.

_Staying at Carinas, sorry. See you tomorrow?_

He stares at his phone for a moment, drumming his recently manicured nails against his thigh. His eyes dart up to the blue substance still sitting in its bag.

Waiting.

For him.

_K._

It’s all he sends, before he stands, and pours the substance out on the counter.

–

Lyrium is a _rush._

His skin tingles with his magic, and Des feels like he could float right out of his body. Purple flames lick at his skin, hot and heavy as he grins, and he’s happy he feels so happy, he’s never felt quite this happy before. This is _marvelous_ , he thinks. It’s incredible, why hasn’t he done this before? Really, his body feels lit up, and everything feels so sensational and that ache in his shoulder from pulling on a bow so often is finally gone and orgasms are somehow even more intense than usual.

Why isn’t _everyone_ doing this?

–

The next morning is awful.

Des discovers that coming down from a Lyrium high is much, much worse than coming down from Elfroot. Less floating to the ground, and more plummeting off of a building.

But he liked the high.

Oh, he liked it a _lot_.

The next time that dwarf shows up, Des asks him about more.

“Sure pal,” the dwarf grins. “But only the first one’s free.”

“Yeah yeah,” Des dismisses “How much is the second?”

He _balks_ at the price.

“I’m a bartender, what makes you think I have that sort of money lying around?” he hisses.

The dwarf rubs at the bottom of his chin. “Alright, alright, I understand. Maybe you’re just not cut out for this kinda thing, not everyone can handle it-”

“I can handle it, I just can’t _afford_ it.” Des corrects.

  
The dwarfs face splits into a smile, and Des notices the missing teeth for the first time. “I’m sure we can work somethin’ out.”

–

Drug trafficking is probably not on Selenes list of 'honest work’, Des knows.

But she’s also only home once a week now, so she really doesn’t get as much of a say in how he lives his life anymore.

 _She_ left _him_.

It means he doesn’t have to pay much for the Lyrium at all, and he always has some on hand. Which is great for him.

Well.

It’s great for his addictions, he supposes. It means anytime he gets a craving, there’s always something lying around.

He knows he’s doing carta work. He knows it’s not something he should be involved in, not something anyone would be proud of him for doing. Knows Carina would fire him instantly, if she knew.

But fuck them, right?

–

It gets worse, as time goes on. Selene graduates, gets her bachelors, gets a teaching job and she and Des move into a bigger apartment again. Nicer. Two bedroom, even.

Des hates having a second bedroom, he finds. More space between them. They hardly even cuddle anymore.

At least it gives him privacy for his hobbies.

It takes another year and a half before Selene barges in without knocking.

“Des, d'you mind if I-” she stops, mid-step and mid-sentence in the doorway.

Looks at the used Templar kit spread out on his bed.

“I…have gotten really into the Chant of Light lately?” he tries.

“What the _fuck_ , Des?” she hisses, slamming the door closed behind her. Carinas over, again, because she practically lives here now too.

“It’s fine,” he tries to assure her “It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re doing Lyrium, Des! You’re a mage, this could _kill_ you.”

“If it were going to kill me, it would’ve done so already,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“How-how long have you been doing this?”

“Like 5 years now, Selene.”

“How did-how did I not know?!”

“You’ve been busy,” he shrugs. “I needed a hobby.”

“This isn’t a hobby, Des. It’s an addiction.”

“Oh please.”

“How often?”

“What?”

“How often are you using it?”

Des hesitates.

“Just…like, twice a day, that’s-”

“ _Are you_ _ **kidding**_ _me right now?!_ ”

“What do you care?!” he yells. What right does she have to come in, now, and try to tell him _he’s_ wrong? She found happiness without him, he can find his own, too. She’s the one who left, it’s her fault!

Selenes face fills with guilt, and Des realizes too late that he was speaking aloud.

“I…” she swallows. “I’m sorry, Des. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. We can…Ok. Ok, we can fix this, we’ll just… You have to stop, you know that, right?”

“So I can go back to being lonely?”

“No. No, I won’t forget you again. I didn’t mean to leave you alone, Des. I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

Des takes a deep breath, and tries to clear his head.

It’s not really her fault.

He probably should have tried to have a talk with her, a long time ago.

“I…” he looks down at the kit on his bed. “I’ll try to get better.”

Selene closes the space between them, hugging him tight to her. Instinctively, he returns the embrace. Holds her to him, relaxes into her grip, and lets out tension he didn’t realize he had.

“I won’t let you go, so don’t leave me, ok?” Selene murmurs.

Des nods into her shoulder.

–

Recovery is a bumpy road.

If that bumpy road were full of sinkholes and glass shards and other things constantly trying to kill you.

The first twenty four hours are the worst. Selene sends Carina home as soon as she leaves Des’s room. Says he’s sick, and she has to attend to him. Carina knows about Selenes background as a healer, and doesn’t push the subject, just says to call if she needs anything.

Des ignores the lump in Carinas coat pocket the size of a ring box as she walks past him.

Selene does too, to her credit.

She puts on the TV for background noise, and brews him a fresh cup of tea in the morning after they sleep through the night in her bed. Some detoxifying thing to help him clear out his body. Des feels fine, though. He tells her that, tells her that 'see? Not a big deal.’

But Selene just hums and makes room for him on the couch.

The sweating comes first.  
He’s leaning into Selene, beneath a blanket they picked up at a swap meet years ago, and kicks it off more violently than he means to. He apologizes, but Selene just tells him its ok, and asks if he wants her to turn up the AC.

She does anyways, and it doesn’t help.

It actually makes it worse, when an hour later he starts getting cold flashes. Nothing seems to help, not a coat or a sweater, or bundling back up in the blanket. Not even curling up against Selenes whole, unnaturally warm, body.

Nausea hits him next, with dizziness. Selene asks if he needs help, and he snaps at her. Yells that he’s not a child, he doesn’t need help, and this is all her fault anyways, why’d she have to go and be successful just to prove that he’s not, and a whole slew of verbal abuse that he knows she doesn’t deserve, but he just can’t seem to _stop_.

Selene just sits there and takes it, and it only makes him angrier. Stop sitting there, stop saying 'its alright’, we ran away so you could get away from shit like this and I’m just as bad as they were apparently, and oh god I am a monster, Selene, I’m a demon after all, what have I done, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it, please forgive me, please, please, _please don’t leave._

And she doesn’t.

When he’s back in his right mind later, he still won’t understand why.

But she stays with him. Holds up a barrier around him when his magic starts to loose, keeps his flames contained in a bubble and brings him bottle after bottle of water each time he settles down. Sings to him, tells him stories he’s heard a thousand times, and a few that are new. Reminds him of adventures they had as teens, of how much he means to her, of how proud of him she is that he’s doing this.

How strong he is for going through with it.

He certainly doesn’t _feel_ strong.

After forty eight hours, Selene lets him go to the bathroom alone. She’s already flushed the product he told her about while he was sleeping, and he checked and it’s definitely gone. Even the bit under his mattress he hadn’t mentioned.

The carta isn’t going to be thrilled about that. But now’s not the time to worry about that, he thinks.

A week later, and Selene lets Des go back to work, under the condition that Carina’s there too.

Carina still doesn’t ask questions, but agrees to keep an eye on him during his shift just the same.

When the dwarf enters, Des barely spares him a glance.

“Where’s the product?” the dwarf grumbles without pre-amble.

“I’m not permitted to serve you anymore.” Des avoids.

“That was a lot of product to have disappear,” the dwarf warns “I can’t just let that slide, kid.”

“I can’t get it back, so you’ll have to let it.” Des shrugs, still not looking up.

The dwarf shakes his head, and snaps his fingers. Two more dwarves come out of the bathrooms, and make their way over. “I liked you kid, I really hate to do this.”

“Do what, precisely?” Carina asks as she steps out of her office, staring down the trio of dwarves.

The dwarf turns to her, presumably to tell her to turn around, but Carinas already got a gun in hand, finger on the trigger. “I don’t want any trouble,” she says “So you and yours, go on and get out of here. Consider yourselves banned from this establishment.”

The man sneers, mustache riding up so high Des is surprised it doesn’t disappear entirely up his nose, and mutters out “Ale tasted like piss anyways,” he turns to Des, and points a finger as he makes his way out the door “The Carta gets whats theirs. **Always**.”

Three beats pass as the door swings shut behind them.

Carina sighs, and re-holsters her gun. “What did you go and get mixed up in?”

“Trouble.” Des admits.

Carina nods in a 'yeah, that happens’ sort of way. “Try to keep Selene out of it for me, alright?”

“I’ll do my best.”

–

Another week passes, and Des is feeling pretty good. Most of his cravings have died down, his body temperature has stabilized, and he feels like he’s gotten over a bad flu, for the most part.

He and Selene are looking through some brochures she’s gathered for rehabilitation clinics in the area together. She says its better to have the help and not need it, than for him to relapse because they didn’t bother.

He’s done arguing with her about things for a while, after some of the things he’s said and done, so he agrees straightaway.

Then someone knocks at their door.

They both go on edge; Carina has a key, so she wouldn’t knock. And they don’t really know anyone else.

Selene’s the one who answers it, when they knock again.

A dwarven man with a mustache that blends into his beard and missing teeth greets her.

“Hey. Your roommate home?”

“No.” she responds, and immediately tries to close the door. One of the women behind him sticks her steel-plated-boot in between the door and the frame.

Selene tries to close it anyways.

The trio of dwarves push their way into the house, and the man waves to Des as though they were friends.

“Hey kid. Just here to collect.”

“I don’t have it,” Des repeats again. “It’s gone.”

“Listen kid. I like you, really. I don’t want to have to kill you to make an example like the bosses want. Just give me the Lyrium, and we’ll be on our way.”

“It’s gone,” Selene declares from where she is still holding the door. “I flushed it. You want it back? Go check the sewers and get the hell out of our home.”

The dwarven man seems to consider this a moment. Then he shrugs.

And snaps his fingers.

One of the women swings on Selene, landing a punch directly to the face before she can react. Selene slams into the floor, and Des dashes forward, snagging a knife from the kitchen.

Selene staggers back to her feet, while the dwarven man gives an overly dramatic sigh “I guess two dead bodies’ll be better, anyways. Do what you gotta do, right?”

Selene throws a fireball towards the woman who punched her and ducks down low to avoid the next hit. She slams her hand up into the bottom of the dwarfs rib cage, lifting the shorter woman off the ground and uses her magic to force burst her up into the ceiling. She sticks for a moment, before falling into a heap back onto the tile floor.

Des strikes for the dwarven man, but gets blocked by the other woman, nicking her face instead of his throat. She twists his arm, and he lets out a yowl of pain as his knife clatters to the floor. Selene takes advantage of the distraction, and lights a flame sigil beneath the two dwarves. Their rubber soles begin to melt, making it almost impossible for them to move.

Unfortunately, she miscalculated just how many fire codes the owners of this building fudged in the paperwork.

The fire spreads, quickly out of control. Selene and Des exchange a look of silent panic and make a run for it, locking their door on the way out and pulling the fire alarm to warn the other tenants.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Des mutters under his breath as they dart down the stairs, other tenants filing out of their rooms as they go. “I didn’t mean to do all this, Selene.”

“I know, Des. Let’s just-focus on getting out of here, ok?”

Des nods, and they exit the building, watching as the smoke pours out of their apartments window. Families and neighbors stream out of the building, and Selenes anxiety rises. She snags Des’s hand in hers, and pulls him back and out of the crowd.

“We have to leave.”

“Where do you want to go, Carinas?”

“No, I mean we need to _leave_. Start over again. The carta’s not going to leave you alone after all this, we need to find a city that isn’t theirs, and fast.”

Des nods, and follows Selene as she makes a casually brisk walk down the street, towards the direction of the docks.

Then something strikes him.

“What about Carina?”

“She’s handled The Carta before, they can’t hurt her.” She assures him.

“What about _you_ and Carina?”

Selene bites down on her bottom lip, and he sees a flash of regret in her eyes. “It’s just…not meant to be. She’ll find someone else.”

“She was going to ask you to marry her.” Des says. He’s seen the ring, heard her mumbling about proposal speeches during his shift.

“…I know.”

And that’s the last time Selene talks to him about it.

  
She buys them tickets for the ship. Finds out after that it’s headed someplace in Fereldan.   
That’s fine though, she assures Des. The Carta doesn’t own all of Fereldan.

The boat leaves the dock, and he watches her stare at her cell phone screen, before sending off one final text before chucking it overboard.

He doesn’t bother asking who it’s for.

Instead he laces his fingers through hers, and places a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers.

“I forgive you,” She smiles.

“You and me against the world?” he grins.

She laughs, and neither one of them mention the tears falling down her face. “Yeah. You and me, Des. Always.”


	10. Chapter 10

Des squeezes his way through the apartment buildings stairwell, humming an old pop tune under his breath after a day of work. It’s not _glamorous_ , but it pays the bills and leaves him a little left over to treat himself with.

And he gets to giggle under his breath each time he asks someone through the phone line if their device is ‘properly turned on’.

Selene is lounged across the couch beneath a light blanket, laptop open while she types away, a cold cup of tea perched on their new coffee table.

“Welcome home.” she calls without looking away from the screen. Several notebooks filled to the edges with scribbles and numbers are splayed open around her.

“I see you’re still working. New textbook order?”

“Just a new edition for next year,” Selene hums “They don’t want kids copying the homework from the previous years class, so I have to at least rearrange some questions before orders go out.”

Des nods, flipping through the mail pile. 

Bill, past due notice, bill, coupons, and… “Is this the new lease?”

Selene finally looks up from her laptop. “Oh. Yeah. Our lease is up soon, so management dropped that off and asked if we’d be renewing again.”

“We’re not, right?”

Selenes eyebrows scrunch together curiously. “Of course we’re renewing. Where else would we go?”

“Oh, I dunno, off the top of my head we could, maybe, move in with our devastatingly handsome sig nifs and their place that’s ten times bigger than ours? With working hot water?”

“That’s…no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s just renew, and we can maybe revisit this topic next year.”

Des plops down next to her on the couch, causing her laptop to nearly fall to the ground before she can catch it. “What’s wrong with this year?”

“Its…” Selene bites down on her bottom lip, her gaze returning to the screen “It’s still too early to move in together, don’t you think?”

“It’s been like a year and a half so, no, not really. I wasn’t expecting us to renew last year, either.”

“And that’s silly of you,” she reprimands. “There’s nothing wrong with having separate apartments.”

“Except that we could be paying a lot less in rent and utilities, if it were split five ways instead of two.” Des argues.

“Oh please,” Selene says with a roll of her eyes “Have you met Fear? Anyplace in our price range, even split five ways, is not going to have a security system they’d be comfortable with.”

“They’re fine with the security where we are _now_.”

“Des, our security system right now is a broken deadbolt, our kitchen knives, and the hope that the asbestos in the hallway will kill intruders before they make it inside. It’s one of the reasons they never come over.”

“All the more reason we should move in together!”

“Des…” Selene groans as he shuts the top of her laptop.

“Listen, we spend over half our nights there anyways. We usually all eat together. We could keep an eye on the place while they’re touring-”

“We already do that-”

“ _Exactly!”_

She sighs, and Des waits while she seems to mull the matter over.

When she shakes her head and says no anyways, it starts to bug him.

“Selene, there is literally _no reason_ not to do this.”

She turns him down again, and he pouts, trying to figure out how to convince her, before an idea strikes him.

“You know…” he drawls “With the bills split so many ways, I bet you’d finally have some money left over after you get paid for the textbooks.”

“That’s all bill and grocery money, Des.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, just hear me out. What if it wasn’t? What if, with three other people to share the burden of bills, you had enough left over to, oh, expand your wardrobe? Maybe so it’s a bit bigger than 5 shirts and two pairs of pants and whatever you’ve managed to borrow from me?”

Selene huffs, but he can see the wheels turning in her head as she does the math.

“You could get a bike, like I’ve seen you eyeing. A _motorcycle_ , even.” he presses.

“Motorcycles mean classes, maintenance, insurance, and a monthly payment that I can’t do, so hard pass. Nice try though.”

“We could get a car-”

“That I can’t even drive.” she scoffs.

“So we’ll teach you. You should learn anyways.”

“I don’t need to learn how to _drive_ , Des.”

“You sound like your father,” he prods, before doing an unflattering imitation. “ _'Those damned demon machines, polluting the planet and producing more lazy generations who refuse to walk anywhere like a_ _ **true**_ _elf should._ _ **Harrumph**_ _._ ’ “

Selene snorts before breaking out into a small fit of giggles. “He’s never said that before.”

“He would though,” Des points out. “You driving would piss him off to no end, which is _exactly_ why you should.”

“That _is_ a good reason,” she smirks “But I can get Deceit to teach me in his car without moving in together.”

Des lets out a loud groan, sitting up just so he can dramatically swoon back against her.

“Come _oooooooon_ Selene. You haven’t lived with anyone else but me ever since Carina and-” he pauses.

Sits up straight.

“You never moved in with Carina.”

“That’s true,” Selene agrees, suddenly somber as she reopens her laptop.

“You dated her for _five years_.”

“Also true.”

He whips around so that he’s face to face with Selene. “You’ve never lived with anyone but me.”

“Still true.” she hums.

“Oh no. Ooooh no, I am not waiting _four more years_ for you to realize this is a stable relationship and we’re not going to have to run away in the middle of the night. I need a regular dose of vitamin D in the morning _before_ we’re old and gray, Selene.”

“We can buy vitamin D pills if you-Oh, I just got that. Gross, by the way. And you don’t know what could happen in the next few years. We wouldn’t want to leave them holding the bill because the two of us had to leave again and broke the lease. What if something happened while they were out on tour, and we had to leave without saying goodbye?”

“I think they’d still be devastated if we left them with no warning regardless of our living situation.”

“But it’d be worse if they had to deal with getting rid of all our crap.” Selene argues. She sighs, tone going a little softer as she continues. “How are we going to keep hiding your clinic rehab meetings if we’re living with them? Or what if the Carta finds us, and destroys whatever place we’re sharing with them, and they get hurt, or worse? It’s just…it’s not a good idea, Des.”

Des lets out an overly put upon sigh before draping himself over Selene. “Fiiiiiine.”

  
She places a kiss to the top of his head and glances over to the coffee table, where he somehow moved her laptop while she wasn’t looking. “Can I get back to work now?”

“Can we cuddle first?” he pouts through large, exaggerated eyes and lashes.

She hesitates before finally nodding and relaxing beneath him. “Yeah, alright. I’ll finish it later.”

–

It’s about a week later until Des is finally alone with Fear.

“So my and Selenes lease is up soon,” he tells them.

Fear doesn’t respond, but they do pause in their preparation for dinner.

“She thinks we should renew.”

Fear puts down the knife, and makes their way over to Des before holding their hand out “Do you have the new agreement offer with you?”

Des grins, and pulls the folded up set of papers from his back pocket before handing them over.

Fears eyes slide across the agreement, their features becoming even more unhappy than they normally appear as they read through it.

“They really expect you to pay that much to live in that place?”

“It’s robbery is what it is,” Des nods “I told Selene we should move in with you all, but she thinks it’s a bad idea.”

Fear glances up from the lease with a raised eyebrow “Then why bring it up?”

  
“Because I know you’re smart enough to see it’s the best solution to our problem, babe.”

Fear gives a small 'hm’ in response before tucking the lease into the back of their jeans. “Come help me shave the carrots.”

Des wiggles his eyebrows playfully at the potential innuendo, and strides into the kitchen to help anyways.

–

A couple more days pass, and the whole group is relaxing comfortably around Deceit, Fear, and Dirthamens apartment in various states of undress. Selene is typing away on another set of revisions, perched in Dirthamens lap on one of their chairs while Des braids through Deceits growing length of hair on the floor.

Fear looks up from their phone, breaking the relative silence. “Any of us good with yard work?”

Selene mutters “I can garden a bit, if that’s what you mean.” without looking up from her computer screen.

Their head tilts slightly in consideration, and they quietly mutter 'I wonder if the yard could be re-purposed’ before their attention returns to their phone.

Des glances over at them anyways, eyebrow raising curiously until Fear gives them a small 'I’m looking into it but don’t tell anyone else yet’ indication.

Grinning to himself, pleased with what may have been put into motion, Des returns to braiding Deceits hair, humming an old pop song beneath his breath.


	11. Chapter 11

Selene agrees to the move, in the end.

  


Due in no small part to Des’s insistence that _he_ will be moving in with their lovers regardless, and the prospect of finding another roommate sounds like a sort of hell she just doesn’t want to deal with.

Getting him away from the apparent lyrium dealers in their building is a good thing, anyways.

  


The new house is nice. Sturdy, with good bones and much more comfortable after Fears renovations start to take place.

Deceit looks at her funny when she moves in, though.

  


“Where’s your stuff?” He asks.

She blinks, glances to make sure her bag is still on her back and not left on the bus. It is, and she’s got her box of books securely in her arms, before slowly answering “This _is_ my stuff.”  


“ _All_ of it?”  


  


She shuffles awkwardly on her feet. Buying things has been…low, on her list of priorities. Most of the things she had actually purchased for herself were left behind when she and Des hopped onto the boat to avoid the Carta. Without a steady income since then (too overqualified for most entry level jobs, they tell her, and being publicly labeled an ‘unhinged dalish mage’ accused of arson and attempted murder in carta controlled media means most universities and research foundations consider her too 'high risk’) she’s been focused on stretching her funds as far as she can manage.

She’s got her casual boots, and some heels Des has bought for her, and a small collection of frequently washed clothing. A box of books she uses for her studies, often traded back into the local used book store for credit towards more recently updated collections. She and Des had decided to donate their kitchen items, since Fear’s apprehension to the black spots in their old home meant they likely wouldn’t have survived 'disinfection inspection’ anyways. Des is taking their shared mattress, since he used it more and Selene wasn’t particularly attached to it. They’d also decided he should keep the dresser, since he had enough clothing to actually need it.

Selene was taking their fold out couch, to use as a bed for the foreseeable future.

“Des and I are bringing the furniture after he gets off work,” she ultimately shrugs before heading into the room they had selected for her. She closes the door before Deceit can follow her inside with any follow up questions and lets out a breath.

  


The window is nice. She ended up with one of the second floor rooms, with a larger window to look out over some of the trees in the yard. She yanks open the blinds to let the light in, in an attempt to clear out any lingering dust mites, and contemplates the merits of stacking her books in the corner versus just leaving them in the box for storage.

Des might complain that she’s not actually 'unpacked’ if he sees them.

Still. She can probably wait until the couch-bed is in here to make any final 'design’ ideas.

Selene unpacks her bag though, placing her folded up clothes in the shelf of her closet, since she doesn’t actually have any hangers yet. She might see if she can snag a few from Des, when he’s done settling in himself. Plugs her laptop and into one of the outlets on the wall to charge, and lays down on the floor, soaking in the warmth from the sunbeam streaming through her window.

  


The neighborhood is quiet. No loud neighbors on the other side of her wall, no curtain for a semblance of privacy while someone hisses in pain on the other side. Just her breath, and her thoughts, and the wind brushing the tree branches outside. 

It’s nice, she thinks.

She falls asleep in the warmth of the sunlight, and wakes up embarrassed when her phone vibrates loudly against the hard floor.

  


_Where r u???_ from Des.

  


_On my way. Got busy at the new place. Sorry._ She shoots back.

  


One of Des’s coworkers was nice enough to let them use her pickup truck to get their furniture out, but there’s a very small window of time she’s willing to help them for. Mentally berating herself for running late, and already feeling bad, she begs a ride off Deceit who agrees without complaint.

  


By the time they arrive, the dresser is already loaded into the truck, and Des and his coworker are at the bottom of the staircase with the mattress in hand.

  


“You two stop for a quickie?” Des teases. Selene just rolls her eyes and apologizes for being late to his coworker. She steps into her apartment (for the last time, she realizes) and carefully lifts one side of the sofa.

  


Deceit is close behind, and helps her with the other end as they make their way carefully back out the door.

“Gonna miss it?” They ask.

Selenes gaze drifts to the kitchen tile, the green patterning on the edges, and feels her stomach get tight.  


“Probably not.” she admits.

  


Once the couch is loaded into the back of the truck, Deceit moves to go back up the stairs before Selene gently grabs his elbow. “Where are you going?”

“To…get the rest of it?”  


“This is everything.”  


Deceit frowns. “Seriously?”  


“We’re minimalists.” she lies.  


“Sure, Des definitely gives off that minimalist vibe.” Deceit jokes back.  


Selene sighs “Just…this is really everything. Can we head back now?”  


  


Deceit hesitates, but finally nods. The ride back is awkward, and it doesn’t really ease up when Deceit speaks again.

  


“Just the one bed?”

  


“Nah, the couch folds out.” she corrects.

  


“That doesn’t count.”

  


“It’s comfy.”

  


“I _doubt_ that.”

  


Selene just shrugs “Fine, not like I’m begging you to sleep in my bed anyways.”

  


“Why isn’t Des taking the couch bed? He’s less likely to stay in his room.”

  


“We decided he should have the mattress. Suits him better.”  


  


Deceit shakes his head, but doesn’t push the matter as he pulls into the driveway.  


  


  
Des thanks the woman for letting them use her truck once he’s gotten everything out of the bed and into the driveway. She tells him no problem, and goes on her way before Des and Selene start carrying everything inside, carefully maneuvering up the stairs and into Des’s room.

  


“We need a bed frame,” he laments, staring at the twin mattress looking suddenly much smaller and just a bit pathetic on the floor of the expansive room. His own boxes of clothes and trinkets are all piled high in the corner.

  


“You’ll need a box spring too.” she points out.

  


Des grumbles, but agrees as he tosses a few of his pillows on top of it. They descend back down, carrying up the dresser and finally the couch.

  


He glances around her room, judging not so silently. “You need stuff.”

Selene just rolls her eyes and ushers him out of her room with a soft “Go unpack.”  


  


She turns around, readjusting the couch until it’s centered on the wall opposite the window, making it easy to look out of.

It occurs to her, then, that Des has all of the sheets and blankets.

Some quick mental calculations, and she thinks she might be able to swing a set for herself since her bills will be less this month, with her new rent.

She doesn’t want to bother Deceit again, so she opts to just walk to the nearest bus stop instead of asking for a ride. Debates whether she should probably take someone with her in a new neighborhood, but a quick look through the house reveals Des already enjoying one of the new showers, and Dirthamen and Fear both still out.

  


She shrugs, silently stepping out of the house and looking up the closest bus stop on her phone. It’s only a fifteen minute wait, the sun just starting to set as she boards and waits for the bus to stop closer to a general store. She steps off twenty minutes later, snagging a shopping basket inside the superstore, and heads off to home furnishings.

The route takes her past sporting goods, and she stops for a second to admire a sea-green bicycle with wide enough handlebars to comfortably support a large basket.

The house _does_ have a garage, she thinks. So she’d actually have somewhere to keep it, if she can manage to budget for it.

Although she’s pretty sure she overheard the others talking about converting the garage into a practice space for the band, so maybe not. Could the basement work? Carrying the bike up and down the stairs might be a pain, and she’ll have to wash off the wheels before she brings it into the house, but it could probably be done. For that matter, she might be able to just keep it in her room and out of everyones way.

She does some mental calculations and frowns.

She’s not actually sure how much the utilities are going to be now. It’s split amongst more people, but surely a house is going to cost more in power and water. Plus band rehearsals. Amps and guitars and Fears electric drum set probably need to be factored in.

She should have asked these questions before she moved in.

Stupid. Moved too fast.

  


Too late to go back now. She’ll have to wait a few months to see what her average bills will look like now, and then readjust her budget. A few months, and there’ll probably be new bikes anyways.

She spares one last look at the sea-foam green bicycle before refocusing on what she actually came for.

  


She finds a nice jersey sheet set in lavender to fit the pull out, and balks at the ridiculous price of most of the comforters, opting instead for a large white afghan that she can just roll up in when she needs to. She runs hot enough, she probably doesn’t need a heavy blanket anyways.

  


She tucks both the sheets and the afghan into her basket and heads towards the front of the store to pay. Going over a mental list of things to get done. She’ll need to wash the sheets and blanket, if not tonight then at least soon. Do they have a washer and dryer? Will she need to pitch in for them, or is there a laundromat nearby maybe? She supposes with three bathrooms though, she could probably wash her things in a tub and run a line between the trees to dry them on without too much trouble. Maybe she should pick up a washboard and some baking soda while she’s he-

Selene freezes in her tracks as her eyes register a familiar face on one of the magazines in the checkout line.

  


Carina’s smiling face is on the cover of a magazine. The cashier asks Selene if she needs anything else, and before she can think twice, she has them ring up the magazine, and walks out with three items instead of two, hustling to get back onto the bus. She shifts nervously on the crowded bus, holding tight to her plastic bag as it rattles and shakes back up the road and she reaches the stop nearest to the house.

What is _Carina_ doing on a magazine cover?

She’s beautiful enough to be, of course. Selenes never doubted that, but it’s certainly not how she expected to see her again.

Not that she _ever_ expected to see her again.

  


She could, though. She threw the phone into the sea so they couldn’t be tracked with the GPS, but she knows Carina’s number, assuming she hasn’t changed it in these last couple of years. It’s not like she hadn’t considered calling before. Catching up, apologizing for the way things ended, seeing how Carina is doing.

She supposes Carina is probably doing very well though, if she’s on a magazine cover.

  


Half wondering if she’s making something out of nothing, Selene decides to glance at the cover again, just to make sure it _is_ Carina and not just her mind playing tricks on her. It definitely is, and Selene is stuffing it back into the bag when she accidentally knocks into Dirthamen in the driveway.

  
“Sorry,” she apologizes, taking a step back, arms hiding behind her in-what, guilt? (Why should I feel guilty, it’s just a magazine, she berates herself) “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  


“It is alright,” Dirthamen assures her “It is very dark here in the night. Perhaps a few solar lights for the walkway would not be out of place.”

  


Selene nods, and gestures for him to head in ahead of her. Dirthamen still holds the door open for her to enter first, however and she shuffles into the house as quietly as she can manage, but a shirtless Des loudly announces “ _There_ you are!” and blows any hope she had of getting her purchases into her room without being seen away.

  


“Hello,” she says, attempting to seem calm and definitely not in possession of a magazine with her ex-girlfriends face on the cover. “I just-I had to get some things. I didn’t mean to disappear.”

  


Des grins, and moves to take the bag from her “Ooooh, you got ’ _things’_?” he asks enthusiastically as Fear, Deceit and Dirthamen greet each other over towards the kitchen. “What sort of-”

  


Selene violently snatches the bag back when he tries to look inside, clutching it tightly to her chest “Blankets,” she blurts “It’s just-just blankets. I’m gonna-I’m just going to go set these up and I’ll be right back,” she stammers, making her way backwards up the stairs and away from the group “Just-right back.” she finally says with an uneasy grin before disappearing into her room.

  


All four of them glance curiously up at the closed door.

  


“That was weird, right?” Deceit finally says.

  


“She’s probably just stressed from the move,” Des covers. “She’ll be fine in a day or two.”

  


Fear gives a skeptical 'hm’ before they go back into the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.

–

  


Selene, to her credit, doesn’t look at the magazine until much later. She eats with the others, works (or tries to find work) during the day for about a week or so and tries not to think about the magazine she hastily stuffed into the back corner of her closet.

  


It goes well, mostly. She never actually gets the fold out set up either, though. Instead she sleeps on it as a couch, feet and legs dangling off of one side, or in one of the others beds after evenings spent together.

Still.

Curiosity about the magazine eats away at her, just a bit, until she finally can’t take it anymore.

She snags the booklet out of her closet, and climbs out her window and onto the roof for a bit more privacy than usual (Des has yet to realize that even on Selenes door, he needs to knock before going in). It’s chillier than she expected though, and she eyes one of the closer trees, scooting down over the roof and testing the sturdiness of the branches with one leg carefully. Once she’s confident it can support her weight, she climbs into it, settling comfortably against the trunk. Summoning a small wisp of light, she begins to finally look through the publication.

  


Apparently Carinas personal project finally bore fruit, and she’s being internationally recognized for her work. Her RNA mapping led into a gene that’s commonly found in both dwarves and materials found within the recesses of the Deep Roads, giving scientific credence to the notion of dwarves coming from The Stone. There’s mention of the Assembly bestowing her as a Paragon, if her finding can be conclusively recreated. A large deal for any dwarf, and even more so for one from the surface.

Selene smiles, happy that things have been going Carinas way, and that she seems to be doing very well for herself. She deserves it, really.

  


“You can take the elf out of the Dales….” someone drawls, startling Selene into almost losing her balance as she clutches the magazine tight to her chest again.

She frowns, looking down to find Des on the ground, both hands on his hips expectantly.

  


“I made an oath not to climb anymore trees, so you’ll have to come down.” he teases.

  
“It’s a nice view,” she jokes back “Plenty of stars.”

  


“Sure, if you ignore all the leaves and the bugs and the cold.”

  


Selene just shrugs.

  


Des groans, and climbs the tree anyways, muttering under his breath before settling on a nearby branch. “Any particular reason you’re up here, alone, instead of inside with the rest of us?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” she lies.

  


Des gives a soft 'uh-huh’ before snatching the magazine out of her grip. Selene tries to grab it back, but has to stop before she falls out of the tree. And by then, it’s too late anyways.

  


“Is this _Carina_?”

  


Selene is silent, shuffling awkwardly in the tree.

“Selene,” Des groans. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I-…I really did just go out to get sheets when we moved in. Then I saw this, and…”  


“And you grabbed it, because of course you did,” he sighs. “Probably not a great sign you’re trying to keep it hidden, huh?”

  


“I’m not _hiding_ it…”

  


“You are. Like porn. Kinky fetish porn.” Des points out.

  


“That’s not true.”

  


“Have you even told the others about her?”

  


Selene frowns, and looks away.

  


Des sighs “Maybe tell the people we’re sleeping and living with that you were in a serious relationship before we met them?”

“And when they inevitably ask why it ended?” Selene argues.

“Tell them the truth,” Des shrugs. “Would you feel better if I told them?”

  


Selene hesitates. 

“You’re not serious.” she says.

“Sure I am. They should know, in case I relapse. Fear’d probably be great for keeping me straight.” he grins and adds in a teasing tone “Well, not _straight_ , but off of lyrium at least.”  


  


Selene snorts.

  


“They’re going to find out eventually,” Des points out. “Fear probably knows about the charges against you already, and they haven’t kicked you out for being an arsonist and attempted murderer.”

“I’m _not_ an arsonist, _or_ an attempted murderer-” Selene groans.  


“ _ **Exactly**_. So stop stressing about it.”  


  


She frowns, leans back into the trunk and lets her legs dangle off of either side of the branch. “So you think I should…what, say 'hey here’s my ex-girlfriend who’s up for Paragon-hood but its cool because I haven’t even spoken to her in two years because I ran away with no warning to get away from the carta, by the way who wants ice cream’?”

  


“I would maybe bring out the ice cream before the abandonment thing.” Des quips. “But yeah. I think you should tell them everything honestly, but the whole…clan and evil ex thing is another thing for another day, probably. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about my parents yet either. Pretty sure we could handle the lyrium thing though. I think we’re stable enough for that, now.”

  


Selene glances over to Des, skeptical.

  


He just shrugs “I really love them, Selene. And you. I tease a lot but this is probably the first time I’ve felt like I belonged somewhere. And I think our chances of not screwing this up are better if we tell them ourselves, instead of dodging around certain topics and hoping we never see certain people for the rest of our lives.”

  


Selene sighs, scraping off a small layer off moss from the trunk with her boot absently “When did you become the voice of reason between us?”

“I dunno, but it’s throwing off our whole dynamic. Do me a favor and go back to being the smart one, ok?”  


“You’ve always been smart, Des.”  


“Nah, I’m just _clever_.”  


Selene snorts. “You wish.” She eyes the roof behind her, deciding that it’s probably too far to climb back safely (and if she tries and fails she will _never_ hear the end of it from Fear) and instead opts to climb back down into the yard. She helps Des with his own descent, and he rolls up the magazine and hands it back to her.  


  


“Ready?” he smiles, linking his arm through hers.

Selene carefully tucks the magazine into her back pocket, and squeezes his arm carefully with her own.

“As I’ll ever be.”


	12. Chapter 12

Dirthamen has mixed feelings about his semi-regular lunches with his mother.

On the one hand, she is his mother, and he loves her, and is happy to see her.

On the other hand, the aftermath of such lunches always tends to leave him feeling very drained, and doubtful of his life choices, and persistently guilty.

This week’s luncheon is no exception. His mother is in a poor mood, and he can tell as much as soon as he sits down. She is glaring at the menu. This despite the fact that they have eaten at this restaurant many times, and it belongs to a chain which his mother owns, and so she should only need to check the seasonal menu very briefly – if that. But today, she barely looks up at Dirthamen as he takes his seat.

It does not take long for a familiar argument to emerge.

“ _When,”_ she asks him. “Are you finally going to be done pretending to be a ‘musician’, running around with your _companions_ and playing music for adoring crowds of deadbeats and stoners?”

Ah.

Dirthamen tilts his head.

“I do not know,” he admits, which is his usual answer. He supposes he will stop when one or more of the rest of the band wishes to, or if it ceases to be remotely profitable, or if he suddenly develops an aversion to music.

His mother snaps the menu shut, and the conversation pauses, then, as their server hurries over. Dirthamen orders his usual soup and salad. His mother is more particular about her order this week, and gets a gluten-free vegetarian skillet, with a particular strong cocktail on the side.

“You do not know,” she murmurs to herself, disapprovingly. “I suppose it was too much to hope that I could raise a single grateful child. I actually do need you back at the company, you know. Have you heard about what your sister has done?”

Dirthamen blinks.

“Which sister?” he asks.

His mother exhales.

“Sylaise, of course,” she says. “As if Andruil ever does anything other than kill various forms of wildlife and post about it on Instagram. I spend the best years of my life raising four children, and not a single one of you has an ounce of familial loyalty, or any sense of responsibility. Oh, _Dirthamen._ I had such hopes for you. Where did I go wrong?”

“I do not know,” he admits. He has his suspicions, but he does not think she truly wants him to voice them. He has tried that before, in the past, but it did not yield good results. “What has Sylaise done?”

His mother makes a face.

 _“Left,_ is what she has done,” she admits. “She and that new husband of hers. They have decided to start their own business. Rival to ours, of course. Your sister has used all the money invested in her legal education to find a loophole in her own contract with our company, and has abandoned us.”

Surprising.

“I thought Sylaise was intent on inheriting the family business,” he says.

“So did I,” his mother agrees. “But apparently, she has no desire to share her successes with the rest of the family.”

Dirthamen does not suppose it is appropriate to feel somewhat proud of her. It is certainly an ungrateful impulse of his own. Though, he is becoming somewhat resigned to having those.

“Perhaps the experience will be good for her,” he ventures, tentatively. “How is father taking it?”

His mother sighs.

“He doesn’t care,” she admits. “He’s got it into his head that he wants grandchildren, first and foremost. Sylaise has been hinting that she might be willing to give motherhood a try, on top of everything. It’s nonsense, of course. She’s not the least bit ready for the kind of demands that experience would make of her.”

Dirthamen nods in understanding.

His mother stares at him for a long moment. Until their order arrives, and then she sweeps up her cocktail, and takes a long drink.

“It’s high time you came back,” she tells him. “I need someone I can actually trust handling the accounts again. Your brother is set on lighting fire to most everything I give him, and chasing after some B-list celebrity who won’t return his calls; and Andruil keeps handing control of everything over to that wife of hers, when she doesn’t just refuse it outright.”

“I am not coming back to the company,” Dirthamen reminds his mother.

She sighs at him.

“How many times am I going to have to apologize for what your brother did?” she wonders.

“I am not holding a grudge,” Dirthamen insists. “If I were, we would not be having lunch, and I would not still help you with internal investigations and embezzlement issues. But we both know I am not fit to be a CEO. If you leave the company to me, I will dismantle it. Sylaise, on the other hand, likely is holding a grudge. So if you are looking to mend fences, I would begin with her.”

Again, his mother sighs.

But she reluctantly lets the matter go, and instead discusses the results of Dirthamen’s latest review of some of the family accounts. Fear helped, although Dirthamen does not mention that. His mother does not trust Fear, and he has no desire to make the others a target to her. The first time he had tried to explain that Fear and Deceit made him happy, and that this was why he stayed away, he had been forced to intercept a hired hit on the both of them.

He almost left them anyway, just to keep that from happening again. The ensuing argument was the only time he had raised his voice to his mother, that he can recall.

He wonders if she tried to put a hit on June. That would certainly upset Sylaise.

He does not think she would welcome such a question, though. Particularly not in a busy restaurant. He supposes he could talk with Sylaise herself about it, but it has been years since they spoke directly.

Lunch still ends with Dirthamen feeling guilty and disquieted, his mother’s shrewd eyes boring into him when she offers him a parting pat to the shoulder. He worries, on the way home, about what his brother is likely doing, and about what may happen to Sylaise. And he wonders if he is being too selfish. He reconsiders his stance - though, he finds that the reasons for his choices have still not changed. The entire encounter leaves him slow to act and think for the rest of the day, as most of his concentration is on other matters. He does not excel at the choreography practice, even though it is simple.

Fear and Deceit let him bow out early, with promises to have more focus tomorrow.

When he gets back to the house, Des is home. Selene appears to be out; the shopping list on the front of the fridge is gone, and considering her ongoing dispute with Fear over bill percentages, he thinks it is safe to assume she has gone to get groceries. Des is on the sofa in the main room, sprawled out and watching something with his headphones on. He waves at Dirthamen, as Dirthamen heads into his room, and changes into some more comfortable clothing.

When he gets back out, Des sits up on the couch.

“I thought you guys weren’t finishing until seven,” he says.

“I finished early,” Dirthamen admits, coming around the other side of the couch. He looks down at Des; Des blinks up at him in return.

“May I?” he asks.

Des shrugs.

“I don’t know what exactly you’re asking for, but the answer is probably a ‘yes’,” he allows.

Dirthamen nods in thanks, and then climbs onto the couch with him. Wrapping his arms Des and resting his head against his chest, rearranging them both until they can lie comfortably on the cushions. Des catches on quickly, and loops his arms over Dirthamen’s shoulders, in turn. Angling his phone so that he can still see the screen past his head.

“Cuddle time?” he asks.

Dirthamen sighs in confirmation. Des is very warm, and the contact is soothing. Innately reassuring, in its lack of violence or rejection. After a few minutes Des starts running a hand up and down his back, and Dirthamen lets out another breath. His eyes slide shut. He can hear the faint notes of the music Des is listening to through his headphones, small and tinny from the outside.

He doesn’t ask any questions.

Dirthamen appreciates that. They would be difficult to answer.

But after a while he finds himself doubting things less. Perhaps he is selfish, but he knows he is not more selfish than anyone else in his family. And if anyone else objects to it, they have not said so. Des runs his fingers through his hair, and curls a hand around his upper arm. Just slightly possessive. Not hard enough to bruise, or dig his nails in.

After a while, though, he begins to shift less comfortably.

“Not to break up this fine cuddle party, but I have to pee,” he admits.

Dirthamen sits up enough to let him roll off of the couch.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he says.

“I’m not done with it yet, I’ll be right back,” Des promises.

While he’s in the bathroom, Selene comes home. And Dirthamen remembers that even if he has abandoned many of his responsibilities to his family, he still has some to their household, so he gets up and helps her put the groceries away. There are some dishes in the sink, too. He starts washing those, while Selene looks at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Bad day?” she asks him.

He blinks.

“Is it apparent?” he wonders.

“You’re wearing one of Deceit’s shirts,” she tells him, pointing to the soft grey cotton he’d pulled on without much consideration. The material is very easy on his skin. Not irritating. Deceit is good at finding comfortable fabric blends, and freely lends them. Although Dirthamen does not always indulge, because he is a few sizes bigger, and tends to stretch the fabric out.

“It… I had lunch,” he admits.

Selene blinks.

“…Food poisoning?” she wonders.

“Ah. No, it was sufficiently prepared,” he says. “But my mother was present. She was not in a good mood.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Selene replies; tone very dire, considering she has never met his mother. But even despite that, Selene and Des do not seem to like her. Dirthamen has done a bad job of explaining her, perhaps, and they are aware that his family is involved in criminal enterprises. He’s not even entirely certain he can say that dislike is unfair of them. No one else knows that she once tried to have Fear and Deceit killed, but it is still true.

Des comes out of the bathroom, then, wearing just a pair of shorts. He blinks at them in the kitchen for a moment, and then heads back into the living room, and starts rearranging the furniture. Pushing the coffee table aside and settling the two couches together, with a view of the television available from the ends of them.

“Everyone into the Super Couch!” he demands. “We need to get into position to make Deceit and Fear jealous when they get in the door and see how snuggly we are.”

Selene sighs at him.

“I have to make dinner, Des,” she insists.

“I’ll make dinner,” he counters, walking up and grasping both of them by their wrists.

“You don’t know how to cook,” Selene protests.

“I know how to microwave,” Des counters. “We have leftovers. And take-out menus. Spontaneous take-out isn’t covered by Fear’s budget program anyway, you could buy us all dinner and Fear wouldn’t be able to do that automatic tally-and-transfer thing.”

Selene looks somewhat interested by that prospect.

“Is that actually true?” she asks Dirthamen.

“No,” he says. “Fear will keep the receipt and count it towards household expenses.”

Des sighs.

“Okay, but it _sounded_ plausible,” he argues, when Selene gives him an unimpressed look.

Nevertheless, Des manages to get her to take off some more uncomfortable pieces of clothing, and join in with his plan. He switches the television onto Netflix, and locates a surprisingly dry documentary on Fereldan art history, and wedges a few more cushions into strategic places in his cobbled-together couch set, so that Dirthamen soon finds himself comfortably settled between him and Selene, listening to a narrator discuss a debate as to whether a particular statue was intended to be a wolf or a mabari. Des does order take-out, in the end, and untangles himself only to go and answer the door when it arrives.

Selene curls up against Dirthamen, wrapping her long legs around his, and smiling a little when he brushes some hair away from her face.

“Sometimes Des has good ideas,” she muses. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I heard it anyway!” Des calls, balancing take-away boxes as he carries them to the kitchen.

Dirthamen closes his eyes, and lets out a long, slow breath.

“I like it here,” he says, quietly.

“Couch forts are fun,” Selene agrees.

He does not clarify his meaning further. Des returns with several plates of warm food, then, and the delivery is still warm by the time Deceit and Fear get in through the door. The conversations that the new living room layout inspire are familiar in their banter, simple and predictable as Fear rolls his eyes and Deceit climbs over the back of the sofa, and steals the remote from Des in order to swap out the documentary for a spy movie. Des registers his complaint with this by wedging himself into the middle section of the couch and using both Selene and Dirthamen as pillows, and loudly snoring through the opening scene.

Fear settles into their preferred arm chair, and informs everyone that if they get stains on the upholstery, they will be cleaning them out with toothbrushes.

Dirthamen cannot imagine anything in the world that he would rather come home to.


	13. Chapter 13

Selene breaks the news to Des over milkshakes. 

Their customary milkshakes, at a small family run restaurant between the community center where Des attends his rehabilitation meetings and their old apartment. A bit out of the way now that they’ve moved, but not enough to deter them from the only place they’ve found that carries the blackberry and chocolate flavor they’ve come to prefer.

“I’m leaving for Var Bellanaris,” she announces “Tomorrow.”

Des’s eyes snap away from his phone screen, attention fully on her, now.

“I’m sorry. I think I must’ve hallucinated for a moment there. _What_ did you just say?”

“I bought a plane ticket to Verchiel,” she continues “It’ll only be a few days walk to get there if I take the old paths. I should be back by the end of the week.”

“Why would you ever go _back_ there?”

Selene lets out a sigh, fidgeting with the end of her straw. “It’s been fifteen years since I saw Mamae. You know Elrogathe hasn’t made the journey. Someone should check on her.”

Des blows into his milkshake, bubbles rising rapidly to the surface as he gives her his best ‘you have got to be shitting me’ look.

“You’re truly awful at the 'leave the past in the past’ thing, y'know?”

“It’s not like I’m going back to see the clan-” she points out.

“What did you tell the others? I can’t imagine Fear handling the news of you flying to the Dales alone well.”

Selene shifts awkwardly on her side of their booth, silently stirring the chocolate chips deeper into the depths of her milkshake.

“You didn’t tell them yet.” Des realizes flatly.

“Fear wouldn’t take well to this, you’re right-”

“You have to tell them.”

“I will.”

“ _Before_ you leave.”

Selene shifts again, looking guiltily into her purple drink.

“I don’t want it to be a _thing_.”

“Well if you leave without telling them, it’ll be a much bigger thing.”

  
“It’s not so different from when they leave for tour, and they’re gone for _months_ at a time.”

“And they _always_ tell us beforehand. _**And**_ keep in touch during.”

Selene sighs, and takes a long drink. “Fine. I’ll tell them at dinner.”

–

Dinner comes and goes, and Selene is just finishing drying the dishes with Dirthamen when Des loudly clears his throat.

“Selene has something she’d like to say.” He announces.

Selene sends him a glare as she comes around the corner, dishtowel still in her hands.

“ _Thank you,_ Des.”

She rolls back and forth slightly on the balls of her feet as four pairs of eyes settle on her expectantly.

“I’m going on a small trip tomorrow,” She admits. “But I won’t be gone long. Less than a week.”

Fear carefully places the book they had been reading down on the coffee table and looks up at her, chin resting on the back of their hands. “Where are you going?”

“I’m flying into Verchiel, and the rest of the trip will be made on foot.”

Fears mouth opens with what she is sure is a long string of questions and holes to poke in her plans, but Deceit speaks first.

“Where are you walking to, exactly?”

“Var Bellanaris.”

The room goes silent for a moment, before Dirthamen finally steps out from the kitchen and places a consoling hand on Selenes shoulder.

“I am sorry for your loss. Is there anything we could do to make this easier for you?”

“Oh, no!” Selene explains, shaking her head slightly. “No one’s dead. I mean, yeah, Mamae technically is, but she’s been dead for a while now. No one’s died recently, though. Well, that’s not true, _someone_ definitely has, but no one I know personally. It’s just…it’s been a long time, and I finally have the money and time to check on her, so I thought I…would.”  
  


“One of us should go with you,” Deceit pipes up again. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“It’ll be safer if I do. None of you are Dalish, you’re not supposed to set foot near Var Bellanaris.”

“Neither are _you_.” Des points out.

Selene huffs. “I know the rituals, and the proper rites. One trespasser will be better than two.”

Deceit and Dirthamen share an uneasy look, while Fear still looks entirely skeptical about the whole thing. But no one pushes any harder, and Selene excuses herself to finish packing and get some sleep before her early morning flight.

She does promise Fear to at least keep her phone charged and GPS on, and doesn’t bother asking where they found the six portable chargers.

–

The flight is long, and delayed from the start. Heavy storms keep her sitting in the terminal and waiting for her boarding, and it is late afternoon before she finally steps foot in Verchiel. The ground is still damp from recent rain, and she changes out of her flats and into her boots for the trip.

It takes her two and a half days to make the journey, in the end. Made shorter, she admits, by exchanging group texts with the others as she goes. Sending pictures of scenery, and herself near rare plants to assure Fear that she is still in good condition and not mauled by bears or wyverns or wandering wildlife.

It doesn’t take her long to find the space where her Mamae had been laid to rest. She clears away a pile of fallen leaves with the gloves she had packed, and performs the rites before the nearest statue of Fen'harel, praying to the gods she walked away from to protect the mother who never lost her faith.

Once she’s completed them, Selene notices several newer graves. Some are from other clans, of course. But two are not.

One, freshly planted near to her mother. Her uncle, she realizes.

And another, placed at the top of a mound.

Keeper Deshanna.

Selene hesitates.

And then calls Des.

“Helloo _ooo_?” he sings.

“I’m going to be a few extra days.”

Des sighs, and she can practically hear him tugging on the ends of his hair through the phone. “ _Why?_ ”

“I need to visit Alaris.”

“Did he leave the clan?”

“No.”

Des lets out a long groan and a quiet string of curses. “You can’t go back alone.”

“You’re going to join me then?”

“Fuck no! I left for a reason. So did _you._ Alaris has gone this long without us, he’ll be fine.”

“Keeper Deshanna passed,” Selene breathes. “So did his papae.”

Des is silent, as a heavy moment passes between them.

“I don’t feel any loss for Deshanna,” he admits “But I will admit Alaris deserves better than to think he’s alone. Or worse, left with just your father for family.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let the others know you’re going to be gone for more than a week. But if Dirthamen decides to fly us out on a private jet or something to come get you, I’m not gonna get in the way!”

“Thank you.” She repeats.

Des murmurs something under his breath before clicking the line closed, and Selene takes a final stock of Var Bellanaris.

And then begins her journey back to Clan Lavellan.

–

As it happens, she comes across the hunting party first, three days later. One of them recognizes her, and when she asks to see Alaris, they bring her along with only mild complaining.

The campsite has changed less than she thought it would. There are more Halla than there used to be, but she supposes that’s to be expected as a side effect of breeding. Some of the crops have changed, soil rotated, and a few more aravels are scattered around the campsite.

“Sulvuna!” She finally hears, before two arms wrap around her from behind, nearly tackling her to the ground in their exuberance.

“Alaris!” she returns, flinching only internally at her old name “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too!” he exclaims. “What brings you here? Not that I’m complaining, you’re always welcome of course, but I wasn’t…We haven’t heard from you in almost…what, eight years now?”

“Something like that,” She agrees sheepishly “I wasn’t planning on coming back, honestly.”

“So why are you?”

“I went to visit Mamae in Var Bellanaris and I saw Keeper and your Papae.”

Alaris nods in understanding, weight shifting until his is leaning on his staff. And suddenly Selene can see it; the weight on him, of being First for so long and Keeper now. Of losing his Aunt, and his cousin, and his first love, and finally his father.

It’s a weight she feels in her own chest, formed of guilt she thought she had shed long ago. Back now with a vengeance.

He motions for her to follow into his own aravel, and quietly brews her a cup of tea while they exchange small talk. What the clan has been up to, how Alaris has been faring.

“How’s Era'harel?” Alaris finally asks, fingers slightly shaky around his cup as he sits.

“He’s doing well,” Selene evades “But he changed his name.”

Alaris nods “Good. That’s…” He sighs. “Will you send him my apologies?”

Selene blinks, and slowly agrees before Alaris continues.

“I didn’t know….I mean, I was just a kid. It’s not an excuse, I know, but I didn’t think anything of his name then. I didn’t realize what we were really calling him. Please, let him know I’m so sorry for the way he was treated when he was with Clan Lavellan. If he…if he ever wants to visit, or come back, I will ensure he is treated with respect, as he deserves.”

“I will,” she agrees again.

“…Is he seeing anyone?” Alaris mumbles into the edge of his cup.

Selene shifts awkwardly. “Uh….yeah.”

“Oh. Well…I hope they’re treating him well.”

“We try.” Selene admits with a slight tilt of her head.

Alaris’s eyebrows raise, as her words dawn on him.

“Oh. _**Oh!**_ I didn’t-I wasn’t trying to-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” She laughs “We’re together but we’re not-I mean we’re seeing other people. Together. So I guess we _are_ together, but it’s not just us. We’d drive each other nuts without a buffer.”

“So you made your own clan.” Alaris grins.

“Oh, don’t say _that,_ ” Selene groans “I have a hard enough time not running away in terror some days, I don’t need that hanging over me.”

“Are they people you should fear?” Alaris asks with more than a touch of concern.

“No, no. They’re wonderful, and I love them all deeply. They would never hurt me. I just have a hard time with commitment and remembering things are more than temporary sometimes.”

“ _Shocking_ ,” Alaris teases. “Is that why you left Haleir then?”

Selene freezes.

“I…” she swallows. “Is he still around?”

“He’s in town right now, but he’s due back in the morning if you’d like to stick around and say hello.”

“ _ **No**_.” she practically yells, abruptly pushing her seat out from the table. “I…he never told you?”

“He doesn’t really talk about it,” Alaris says slowly “He says he just woke up, and the two of you had left.”

“ _Elrogathe_ never told you?”

“…told me what, Sulvuna?”

She’s shaking, now. She knows she is, no matter that she’s trying not to. She shouldn’t have come alone. Stupid, _stupid._

“It’s..he…” She takes a deep breath, grounds herself. Steadies herself. “It’s not important,” she lies. “I think I’d rather be gone before he comes back though.”

Alaris quietly agrees without pushing the subject, and switches topics back to happier things. They exchange stories about Deshanna, and his father, and eventually it loops back to Selene’s significant others.   
“Here, hold on,” Selene says as she fishes her cell phone out of her pocket “I’ve got pictures.”

Alaris eagerly watches her flip through the photos on her phone. Some candid, some not. A few taken at concerts, of Dirthamen, Deceit, and Fear performing.

“Are they any good?” he asks.

“I think so,” Selene smiles. “I’ve got a few songs of theirs on here if you want to hear.”

She plays a few of her favorites for her cousin, and he asks her to send him some copies. It’s then she finds out that someone posted a cell tower just outside the clans territory, so Alaris ended up with one himself.

“They’re very useful,” he points out. “We still communicate with most other clans the way we always have, of course, but being able to get immediate contact has helped us greatly.”

“You sound like a Keeper.” she teases.

“I sure try to!” He laughs.

The sun starts to set, and Selene announces that she should head out, to avoid being here in the morning.

Alaris pleads with her to stay, just for the one night.

She’s always had trouble saying no to him.

She calls up Des, while Alaris retrieves her old hammock from her fathers aravel (Because she adamantly refused to sleep in there again).

“Still hanging in there?” He greets.

“It’s not so terrible. Alaris is Keeper now.”

“Shame. He seemed so nice when he was younger.” Des pines.

She rolls her eyes “He asked me to stay in the clan overnight, so I’ll start making my way back to the airport in the morning. Should just be another couple of days.”

“Where would you have been staying otherwise?” Comes Fears voice from over the line.

Selene blinks. “Am I on speaker phone?”

“We miss you.” Calls Deceit.

“I miss you all too. I’ll be home soon.” She relents.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Comes Fear again.

“Clearly, I was sharing a cave space with giant spiders,” Selene teases “But before that I just took shelter in a Dragon’s nest.”

“Careful, they might believe you.” Des warns.

Selene doesn’t mention that she really _did_ spend one of her nights in a cave, to escape the rain. She didn’t see any giant spiders, anyways.

“Can I talk to just Des for a minute?” She asks. She waits through the awkward shuffling of the phone being moved to an ear and the click that the speakers have been turned off.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly serious.

“Nothing, really. I just. I thought you should know Haleir was still…around.”

“Did he do something?”

She can hear someone moving around behind him, followed by the sound of Des taking several steps away from whoever it was.

“No,” she assures him “He’s out. He comes back in the morning though.”

“You need to be gone before he shows up.”

“I know.”

“…I should have gone with you.”

“No, Des. I’ll be ok. I just thought you should know.”

“If he comes within arms reach of you, light the bastard up.”

“Will do,” Selene agrees, glancing up as Alaris steps back into the aravel. “I have to go. Love you, tell the others I love them as well.”

“No, I’m keeping your love all to myself. You can tell them yourself when you get back.”

Selene laughs, and hangs up with one last goodbye before standing to assist Alaris in getting both of their hammocks set up.

“Who was that?” he asks.

  
“That was Des.” Selene says before she can catch herself.

“Which one is that?”

“Ah, that’s what Era goes by now.”

“Oh.” Alaris says. “Des,” he says as though testing the feel of it on his tongue. He nods, seemingly satisfied “It suits him.”

Selene nods “I think so too.”

–

Alaris wakes Selene in the morning, when the sun is just beginning to rise. It’s _too_ early, she thinks. But better this than to run into Haleir again. Alaris still takes the time to braid her hair into a long ponytail while she sips at a cup of tea. He brings her a pack as well, filled with rolls and jerky and a bit of halla cheese. In the bottom are two sets of robes; hers, and Des’s.

“You kept these?” She asks, holding up the old fabrics, fingers trailing over patterns she hasn’t seen in nearly a decade.

“Your father did.” Alaris informs her.

She gives him a skeptical look, but he just nods and indicates towards Elrogathes aravel with his head.

“No.” she says before he can verbally ask her.

“Just say _hello-”_

“ _No.”_ she repeats.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“I doubt that.”

“Look,” Alaris pushes “I’d give anything to be able to have another conversation with my Papae. Even if we didn’t always get along, we loved each other deeply.”

“See, that’s where we differ.”

“ _ **Sulvuna**_ ,” he emphasizes. “Go say hello to your father or I swear to Elgar'nan I will give him your cell phone number.”

“…He has a cell phone?”

“Well…no. But I do, and I will force him to use it!”

Selene lets out a groan, and finally relents under threat of being forced to have regular contact with him.

She knocks three times on the outside of his aravel.

He lifts the flap, and turns to look at her.

Freezes.

And then drops the curtain and walks silently back inside.

Selene turns to Alaris, who is still watching the interaction and makes a 'See???’ motion towards the space her father just exited. But he just makes a shooing motion and mouths to her to go inside.

She shakes her head no, but Alaris pulls his cell phone out, hitting the home button to light up the screen threateningly.

She groans again, louder this time, and mopes her way up the stairs and into her old home.

Elrogathe is working away at his desk on tonics and potions, and for a moment she feels like she never left. Like she still lives here, and nothing has changed, and the last few years have been some sort of vivid fever dream. Braid still heavy on her head, the smells of elfroot and embrium thick in the air and the halla bleating loudly outside her wooden walls.

  
  
“What?” Elrogathe finally says.

Selene blinks herself out of her reverie, and manages “What? Nothing. I-Alaris told me to say hi. So I’m…saying hi.”

Elrogathe nods. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I was planning on being gone a lot longer.” she admits.

“Your callouses are gone.”

“Ah, yeah. I don’t-I don’t really work with my hands as much.”

“You’ve gotten lazy.”

Selene lets out a breath of air. “I just do a different sort of work.”

“What?”

“I…” Selene hesitates. She doesn’t, technically, _have_ a job. “I work with numbers a lot. And I write.”

“Stories?”

“Instructions and informative textbooks, mostly.”

Elrogathe just gives a soft 'harrumph’ at that.

“…children?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

He nods. “Good.”

“…'good’?”

“Motherhood would be a poor fit for you.”

Selenes shoulders tense “I would be a _great_ parent. Better than you were, by any means.”

He snorts.

Actually _snorts_.

“You can not walk away from a child when they frustrate you, or expect someone else to clean up their mess.”

“No, _you_ just ignored them unless you had some insult to make or instruction to give.”

“Your mother was the warm one in the family. If you wanted affection, you should have sought her out instead.”

“I _did_. And then when she was gone, you shut me out entirely.”

Elrogathe slows in his work. His eyes carefully raise to look at his daughter. “Dhaveira passed because her heart was soft. She burned like the sun, and when she left there was nothing to sustain us. That was not my fault.”

“So now it’s Mamaes fault that you turned into a cold bastard?” Selene snaps “You think Mamae would have insisted I bond to a rapist? Or stay trapped in a life that I hated?”

“She would have insisted you _survive_!” he yells back, standing suddenly “Not run away to live some half-life like a flat ear! Running around with your guns and drugs and forsaking everything the creators left to us! You had a responsibility, Sulvuna, and you ran away from it! The day you left this camp, you died!”

“And I see you mourned that loss the way you mourned everything else; silently, and without any real emotion.”

The slap he lands is hard enough it makes stars blink in her eyes.

Her hearing goes for a moment, all sounds replaced with a sharp ringing in her ears as she stares down at the floor. She looks back up at him, her eyes meet his, and another slap follows the first, this one hard enough to knock her to the ground.

“Get out of my home,” he says lowly, returning to his work bench. “If I see you again, I will notch an arrow and Andruil as my guide, I will not miss.”

Selene hesitates. Then stands, brushing the dirt and dust from the floor off of her clothing, and strides out of the aravel.

Her face still stings, and Alaris’s jaw goes slack as she approaches him again.

“Did he-Sulvuna, did he _strike_ you?”

“Thank you for having me, Alaris,” She says softly, ignoring his question. “I think it’s time for me to head back home.”

Alaris doesn’t stop her this time. Just hands her back her things, and escorts her out of camp.

It takes only a day and a half to make it to the airport, with Selene barely stopping as she tries to escape the memories of clan life.

She shouldn’t have gone alone. She shouldn’t have gone back.

Stupid, she berates herself.

She sends her flight information back to the group text once she’s purchased her ticket. It’s a late night take off, but it’s the closest one available.

She sleeps for most of the flight, dozing in and out as plains and mountains pass by beneath her feet.

She still feels exhausted, when she finally steps out, and back into what has become her hometown and silently prays the buses are still running.

Not that it matters, it turns out.

Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear, and Des are all standing near the baggage claim, Des practically jumping up and down with a large, hand scrawled sign that reads “SELENE” on it.

She laughs, and feels a weight fall off of her shoulders when she spies them. Something warm and welcoming settles in the pit of her stomach, and for the first time in two days she doesn’t feel a sting on her cheek.

  
“Welcome home!” Yells Deceit across the airport, before Fear gently nudges their arm for drawing attention from strangers. Deceit just shrugs it off as Selene skips towards the group.

“Thank you,” She smiles “I missed you all. _So_ much.”

“We missed you as well,” Dirthamen agrees, reaching over to place a kiss to her lips. Soft at first, before becoming more pressing, more urgent as she responds positively to his advances.

Fear clears their throat pointedly, and Dirthamen finally pulls back. The tips of his ears red.

“We can go home now, right?” Des asks, linking his arm through hers.

“I have to get a bag, actually.”

He frowns. “Did you leave with two?”

“No, Alaris sent one back.”

Des groans, until Selene points out that he packed some foods for them.

“Our old robes are in there, too.”

Des makes a face.

“You don’t have to wear them,” Selene sighs “But it would mean a lot to Alaris if you just held onto them. He wanted you to have them.”

Des relents at that, as they snag up her bag and pile into Deceits car, Selene pressed into the backseat between Dirthamen and Des.

Dirthamen links his fingers with hers, thumb idly rubbing at the back of her hand as they drive, and Fear asks a litany of questions about her trip, insisting that she shower when they arrive back to the house. Selene doesn’t argue, and is thankful for it as she watches the dirt run down the drain, her braid coming undone as she washes out her hair.

She slips into a pair of sleep shorts, and one of Deceits old shirts before heading back downstairs. There’s a late night dinner prepared, followed up by a group cuddle session.

Selene sighs, relaxing into the embrace of her lovers as an old sci fi movie plays over the TV.

She falls asleep there, never more thankful to have finally found a home of her own.


	14. Chapter 14

Dirthamen checks his phone at lunch time.

This proves to be a miscalculation.

He has a meeting with several of his family’s accountants after lunch, and then with Fear and one of the band’s agents after that. Deceit knows full well that they have a practice session afterwards, so Dirthamen supposes the effect is intentional across the board. He feels the heat rise up in him as he looks at Selene’s photos.

It is unwise to further stoke his arousal - which cannot be seen to - by periodically looking at them again throughout the afternoon.

But it is a very scintillating kind of torment. So Dirthamen indulges anyway, when he is certain that no one is liable to see the screen of his phone, or note any discrepancies in this volume of the front of his pants.

By the time he is able to get to home, he has to remind himself that Fear would be most displeased if he violated traffic laws.

He sits at several red lights, simmering in his own sense of anticipation, as his mind seems caught by images of little, vivid patches of blue. And then no blue. Like neon raindrops in the back of his thoughts, that do nothing to cool him.

Maybe more like flames, then. Bright, blue flames.

He pulls into the driveway, and parks for a moment. Drawing it out, just a little, before he finally unbuckles himself, and heads into the house. Things are quiet, to his surprise. The television is off. He can smell pizza. Belatedly, he realizes that he hadn’t seen Fear’s car in the driveway.

“Hello?” he calls.

After a few minutes, he hears steps from the kitchen.

“Welcome home!” Selene greets. She is wearing different new clothes. This time a t-shirt that says ‘too hip to b²’.

It is a long t-shirt.

It is possible she is wearing shorts underneath it.

Dirthamen cannot see any, though.

Selene embraces him, and he sags into it, a little. All else aside, he is glad the day is over - it was a long one, and slightly over-stimulating, in its way. Selene smells like fresh laundry - the new clothes, no doubt - and her kiss is very soft, when she first presses it to him.

“I have a surprise for you,” she whispers, against his lips.

“The photos,” he murmurs, back.

She grins.

“No. I mean I ordered pizza,” she tells him, blinking with surprise that he suspects is manufactured. She does not bat her eyelashes like that when she is genuinely taken aback. “I don’t think I left many things uncovered in those photos, did I?”

Dirthamen licks his lips.

“You did not,” he agrees.

Selene smiles, as she takes him by the hand, and starts leading him in past the entryway. There is a definite swing to her hips.

“Des and Deceit and Fear all went out to the movies,” she says. “It’s a ‘you-and-me’ kind of evening, tonight.”

Oh. Dirthamen likes those evenings. He likes when they are all together, too, but it is nice when some of them can spend one-on-one time to reaffirm their individual bonds. It is something Fear schedules; he wonders if he missed it in his appointment app, or if this was spontaneous.

“And did you have any thoughts on what we would be doing this evening?” he wonders.

Selene grins.

“I was thinking, comfy pyjamas, pizza, maybe we could browse Netflix, or that new Amazon video subscription Des got…”

He swallows.

She winks.

“What about you? Anything _you_ wanted to do?”

Dirthamen considers. The nearest wall is fairly close, and he is feeling less tired by the minute.

He reaches over, pulls Selene to him, and lifts her up. Turns to use the wall as a brace, and kisses her as thoroughly as he can. She tastes like the fizzy drink she probably got for free with the pizzas, soft and just a little surprised, as Dirthamen sweeps his tongue between her lips and makes certain her thighs are well-supported. They wrap around his waist, as he takes approximately fifteen seconds to focus entirely on devouring her mouth.

Then he puts her back down.

“I am certain I will think of something,” he reasons. “But maybe later.”


	15. Chapter 15

In the end, it is Dirthamen’s father who makes the most fuss about wanting to meet Selene and Des.

Mythal has less of an interest than Dirthamen expected, but, then again, she seems somewhat preoccupied with the actions of his siblings anyway. And inclined to just think of the pair as a sort of extension of Fear and Deceit’s existing influence over him. Which is inaccurate, but Dirthamen does not go to any great pains to correct her misconception, this time.

His father, on the other hand, is more interested in the introduction of new people to Dirthamen’s personal life.

“Are they fertile?” he asks Dirthamen, over the phone.

Dirthamen blinks, suddenly caught up by the mental image of plants in bloom, and the memory of the time when his father bred mabari hounds. A short-lived experience; mabari never seemed inclined to bond to Elgar’nan, much to his disappointment.

“I have not asked,” Dirthamen admits.

His father hmph’s at him.

“But are two of you at least reproductively compatible now?” he checks. “You must be. And your mother says you have moved into a house. I looked you up. You are in a good school district. Bring them over! I would like to meet them, and speak with them.”

“I will see,” Dirthamen allows, somewhat unnerved that his father has his address.

Elgar’nan continues to press the matter over the course of several weeks, insisting that he is pleased that Dirthamen is ‘finally settling down’, and apparently this is ‘despite all that business with the noise-making you call music’. Falon’Din set a bad precedent for musical careers during their youth, in the midst of his own misguided attempt to start a band. The endeavour had not fared well, and he had been very incensed with Dirthamen’s own better success at it.

It had not been his intention to show his brother up.

It may have been Fear and Deceit’s, though.

At length Dirthamen broaches the subject with the two of them, first. Mostly seeing if they have any ideas on how he may continue to avoid introducing Des and Selene to his family. But Fear can only offer the usual suggestions that Dirthamen cut ties entirely, and while Deceit has several ideas, they all seem to involve paying people to pretend to be Selene and Des.

Which Dirthamen and Fear both agree seems liable to backfire, in the long run.

Finally, then, Dirthamen approaches the actual persons most relevant to the matter – Des and Selene themselves – with his father’s insistent invitations to a family dinner.

“Will your brother be there?” Selene asks.

“Possibly,” Dirthamen admits. “It is unlikely my father will invite him, but my mother may. Even if she does, though, whether or not he will agree to attend, or then actually attend, is difficult to predict.” Of late, his brother has been chasing after his ‘latest crush’, as his mother phrases it. But the pursuit has not been going well. Knowing Falon’Din, Dirthamen expects this to mean tantrums and reckless expenditures and possible issues with the police.

Selene accepts his answer, promising to give it some thought.

Des takes less time to decide.

“I’ll go,” he agrees, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “I want to meet your rich, evil family. I keep picturing them like the kind on soap operas, and I want to see how the image holds up. Does your house have one of those gigantic chandeliers that could feasibly fall from the roof and murder someone?”

Dirthamen inclines his head.

“One does,” he confirms. “But we will be going to my father’s city apartment. It is the one he uses for work, mostly.”

“Is it a fancy apartment?” Des asks.

“Yes.”

Selene’s brow furrows, a little.

“Formal wear?” she wonders.

“No. My father prefers that everyone wears sweaters for family dinners, unless it is a special occasion,” he assures her. Other casual clothing would also be acceptable, particularly for newcomers – Ghilan’nain had worn a denim dress for her introductory dinner, as Dirthamen recalls, and no one had objected to it – but once he makes that statement, Des seems absolutely determined to find the ‘perfect’ sweater for the occasion.

Selene does not so much agree to go, in the end, as decline to refute Des’ subsequent assumptions that she will. So Dirthamen takes her aside, in the evening, and makes certain that she is comfortable with the idea.

“What’s your father like?” she asks him. “Usually I hear about your mother, and your… brother.”

“Elgar’nan is loud,” Dirthamen offers, a little awkwardly. His father is a difficult man to describe. Possibly only for Dirthamen, though. Others never seem to lack for sufficient descriptors. “I do not understand him very well. He is tactile, and easily angered, and sometimes I think he is stubborn, but at other times he is very contradictory to his own stated principles. But he is not a bad person. He is kind to children and he dislikes criminals.”

Selene winces, just a little. And then she raises an eyebrow.

“He dislikes criminals, but your family business…?” she checks.

“Is entangled in many illegal enterprises. Yes,” Dirthamen confirms. “My father primarily dislikes the concept of criminals. I think. As I said, he can be contradictory, and I do not understand him very well.”

“Huh,” Selene replies.

“If you do not wish to go, I will handle the matter,” he assures her. “But if you do attend the dinner, it will likely satisfy at least some of his curiosity about you. He may ask awkward questions. However, I have found that he tends to answer most of these himself, if one simply keeps quiet and lets him continue talking. This can lead to misassumptions on his part, but I can deal with the repercussions of that.”

Selene does not look terribly reassured.

“And what would those be?” she wonders.

Dirthamen blinks, and assesses.

“The most severe case would be his disowning me,” he muses. “Which would cut me off from my family’s funds and all further access to them. My mother would likely intervene to stop that, however. It would make it much more difficult for her to conscript my help with the company if I was persona non grata. My father has attempted to disown my brother before, but has never actually gone through with it. Otherwise, it is most likely he will reduce my access to family funds, and yell. Those are both manageable.”

Selene looks displeased.

“I’ll go,” she decides. “But if you think I’m doing something wrong, I’d rather you just told me than got into trouble for it. I can play nice. So can Des, for that matter. He’s actually much better at it, in fact, when he needs to be.”

Dirthamen inclines his head gratefully.

“I will do my best to forewarn you. Though, usually I only know that my father is angry at me when he tells me so,” he admits.

Selene sighs. She does not seem to relish the coming meeting. Before he can reassure her of its optional nature, however, she reaches over, and brushes a stray lock of hair out of his face.

“I’ve never heard you yell,” she muses. Her tone is contemplative, but also gentle.

“I dislike it,” he admits.

She nods, accepting, and looks as if she might say something further. But in the end she does not, and when Dirthamen asks if she would like to stay with him tonight, she agrees, and follows him to his room. In bed she wraps herself around him, head to his chest as she lets him run his fingers through her hair, and reads some science news articles along with him on his phone. Most of the studies, they agree, have very misleading articles when compared to the research.

The next morning, Deceit confiscates Selene to go ‘sweater hunting’. Deceit decides to join in as well. Fear already owns suitable clothing, and so declines. Dirthamen gets several texts throughout the morning of the three of them in various sweaters, and finds himself wondering what stores they have found when Des sends him several images of himself in a crop-top purple sweater with the words ‘daddy knows best’ written across the front. It does not seem like a very fatherly article of clothing.

He recommends against that purchase. Selene assures him that Des is only joking, and none of the subsequent sweater selections seem as bizarre.

The three of them eventually come home with an emerald green sweater for Deceit, and a very nice, very soft one with wings on it for Selene, and a sparkly red and purple one for Des, with a plunging ‘v’-shaped neckline. It is very tight, for a sweater. Dirthamen worries that Des has gotten the wrong size, but he is confident that it will fit him ‘just fine’, and when he puts it on, it does look very nice. If atypical of most sweater aesthetics.

Dirthamen procures a bottle of wine for them to bring, and Fear drives as they make their way downtown, to the gleaming building where his father’s apartment is located. They make it past lobby security without incident, and up to the penthouse floor, to find that they are the first of the guests to arrive – apart from Dirthamen’s parents, of course. Mythal embraces him, and subjects Des and Selene to cursory assessments, before his father comes to greet them.

“Dirthamen! You look pale,” he declares. He is wearing his red sweater, with his alma mater on the front, and his hair tied back. Dirthamen extends the bottle of wine towards him, and his father takes it, and tsk’s at the label. “White wine?”

“You said we were having chicken,” Dirthamen explains.

“Bah, such rules are nonsense. You should have brought something with more kick,” his father informs him. “I’d think you would know these things by now. But who came here for drinks anyway? Your mother can put it with some of her bottles, she has delicate tastes! And it suits her! Now, introduce me to your lovers! Which one is the most fertile?”

Selene double-takes, and Des blinks rapidly a few times.

Dirthamen clears his throat.

“I do not know the answer to that. This is Selene. She makes textbooks, and is wonderful. This is Des. He makes people happy.”

Mythal raises an eyebrow at Des, for some reason, while Elgar’nan reaches over and treats both of them to his usual handshake and clasped forearm. It is an awkward start, Dirthamen thinks. But not disastrous. Fear and Deceit keep close, and mostly quiet; and neither of his parents seem overly inclined to speak to them anyway. They end up looming behind the rest of their group, accustomed to some of the strangeness, and prepared for some of the potential fallout of this evening.

It is oddly comforting.

Elgar’nan has several paid cooks working in the apartment’s expansive kitchen. Selene stares uncertainly at the spiral staircase in the front entryway, and the carved columns around it, and the broad windows that overlook the sparkling lights of the city. His father has changed the décor, Dirthamen notes. There is a new multicoloured glass fireplace in the dining room, and a nude fountain in the main sitting room. A drake’s head is mounted on one of the sitting room walls. Likely one of Andruil’s latest trophies. The scales have been polished to a rainbow shine.

“This feels like the kind of apartment that belongs to a billionaire who gets bored with their own decadence and starts hunting people for sport,” Des muses quietly, after Dirthamen’s parents both leave – Mythal to put the wine away, ostensibly, but most likely to make phone calls, and Elgar’nan to check on the dinner preparations.

Dirthamen can hear him bellowing faintly from the kitchen, though the content of his bellows is impossible to decipher.

“Kind of. Andruil’s apartment has a lot more dead things on the walls, but it’s very similar,” Deceit agrees.

Selene looks concerned.

Andruil often seems to provoke concern from people. Dirthamen gives the others a comprehensive tour of the apartment’s available public spaces, and before that is done, Andruil and Ghilan’nain arrive. And then June and Sylaise come, fashionably late, to Dirthamen’s surprise. Not over their lateness, but over their arrival at all. Sylaise greets their mother coolly, and then embraces their father with a smile.

June looks uncomfortable.

He usually does.

“DINNER IS READY!” Elgar’nan booms, clapping his hands together. Fear jumps, just slightly, at the sound. So do the flames in the fireplace.

“Is Falon’Din not coming?” Ghilan’nain asks, in a tone of voice that is neutral, yet somehow still manages to convey her long-standing desire to cut off Falon’Din’s head. Which is not a secret, but also not a particularly unique reaction to Dirthamen’s twin.

“Bah!” Elgar’nan declares. “Dinner is at six o’clock. It is six o’clock. If he comes then he will have to deal with cold leftovers. And be thankful for that much!”

No one has any particular protest. Mythal looks sadly at Dirthamen, but the moment passes, and his guilt is distracted somewhat when Selene laces her fingers through his own.

As they make their way to the dining room, Sylaise and June fall into step with them.

Sylaise eyes them each in turn.

“You’re building quite the collection, I see,” she notes, at length.

“We are partners,” Dirthamen corrects. “I do not collect people.”

“Of course, of course,” his sister agrees. “Vices run in the family, but let’s not assume rampant polyamory to be one of yours. I’m not judging. June and I often bring a friend or two into our own bed. Livens things up.” She eyes Selene rather admiringly on this note.

Dirthamen angles his way between them. It is not something he consciously decides to do, and it seems to amuse his sister more than anything.

“No talk of sex at the dinner table!” Elgar’nan booms. “Unless it is to speak of family planning. Are you pregnant yet, Sylaise? Or is June too impotent to manage even _that_ much? Perhaps you should consider adoption. There are many orphanages in the city, and I know people who could help expedite the process.”

June bristles, but Sylaise only hums.

“I would rather let it happen when it happens, father,” she says. “Simply go off birth control and see where it takes us.”

Mythal raises an eyebrow at her.

“And tell me, child, _have_ you gone off of your birth control?” she asks.

Sylaise meets her stare, and smiles at her.

It is not a friendly sort of smile.

“June’s parents are also eager for grandchildren,” she says, rather than answering the question. “He has a rather extensive family. Did you know that, Dirthamen? I suppose you met them at my wedding, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he agrees.

The small talk carries on as they finally settle in around the table. Elgar’nan declares that he wants to sit near Des and Selene, to get to know them. Des takes the chair next to him, before Dirthamen can make any effort to protest, but he seems relatively confident in the choice. Mythal sits on Elgar’nan’s other side, with Andruil next to her. Selene ends up between Des and Dirthamen, and Fear and Deceit provide a buffer between Dirthamen and the empty end of the table.

“Selene and I are very eager for children of our own,” Des declares, as Dirthamen is in the midst of examining his plate.

He pauses.

Everyone else seems to require a moment to process that, too. Everyone except Des, who cheerfully barrels on.

“Selene loves children. Just, absolutely loves them. And I have always dreamed of being a stay-at-home parent. There’s nothing more fulfilling than the idea of having little ones running around, brightening the world with their sunny smiles and joy-filled laughter,” he says.

Dirthamen had not known that about Des’ life ambitions.

He glances at Selene, who looks like she just swallowed her own tongue. Deceit’s gaze flits across the table, as if searching for an escape route; and Fear looks to be seriously contemplating getting back up out of their chair, and dragging Des away from the table. And then possibly out of the apartment, down to the street, and into the car.

Dirthamen does not think Fear would abandon the rest of them, though. So probably Des would have to sit in the car by himself until dinner was over.

Elgar’nan, though, is _beaming._

“Oh, that is good news!” he declares. “Can you bear children? Can Selene? Adoption may be simpler, but pregnancy has its own joys. And any child of Dirthamen’s would be entitled to inherit a percentage of the company, of course! Even if he is disowned, his children will be my grandchildren, and will have a stake in the family’s fortunes!”

Which is precisely why Dirthamen has always hesitated to consider reproduction.

Des chuckles.

“Well, we’re still sorting our future out,” he admits. “But I’d love to hear your thoughts on childrearing. And of course, any stories you have about your own children would be fascinating, too.”

Mythal actually looks visibly irritated, as Dirthamen’s father then eagerly launches into one of his speeches on parenthood. The food on his plate starts to go cold as he veers off onto his favourite old family stories, in turn. The Time Sylaise Covered Herself in Mashed Potatoes, the Time Andruil Killed a Spider and Brought it To Show Him, the Time Dirthamen Built a Snowman to Be His Friend, the Time Falon’Din Refused to Get Out of the Bouncy Castle, and other such classics come to a notable end before any of Elgar’nan’s children reached their teenage years.

They are onto the stories of when Sylaise was four and refused to wear clothes – which seem to amuse Ghilan’nain, and annoy Sylaise – when the doorbell rings.

One of the servants goes to answer it. Dirthamen is already bracing himself, knowing the likeliest explanation, when his brother walks into the dining room.

Falon’Din does not look unwell, at least. He is dressed in black jeans and a fitted t-shirt, with his owl-wing tattoos clearly visible on his arms, and his hair grown out to his shoulders. There are some dark circles under his eyes, some heavy, skull-shaped rings on his fingers, and a dragon tooth necklace resting on his chest.

He scans the dinner table. Narrowing his eyes at Fear and Deceit, curling his lip at Dirthamen, and fully glaring by the time he gets to Selene and Des.

“I thought this was a family dinner,” he says. “Not ‘bring-your-own-whores’ night.”

“Then what are _you_ doing here?” Ghilan’nain drawls, without missing a beat, before she takes a long drink from her glass. She does not look up, not even when Falon’Din moves towards her chair, and Andruil stands up from her own.

Before Dirthamen can consider reacting of his own accord, however, Elgar’nan bellows.

“LANGUAGE!” he booms. “This is a family dinner, how dare you! Profanities are to be left at the door, that has been the rule for as long as you have lived, and I will not have you disrespect it!”

Mythal rests a hand against his arm, and some of his ire deflates.

“Now, now,” she says, turning cool eyes over Ghilan’nain, before finally resting her gaze on her eldest son. “Falon’Din, please. Come and sit, and mind your manners. I am so very happy you came. It has been a long time since we had all the family in one place.”

Falon’Din glares at Fear for a moment, before turning his gaze over to Selene, instead. Dirthamen realizes, at once, that his brother has noted the lack of empty seats beside him. There is a very high chance of him saying something extremely detrimental in order to try and obtain one.

He stands.

“I will sit at the end with you, brother,” he invites, before that can happen.

Falon’Din likes sitting at the end of the table. He can more easily convince himself he is sitting at the _head_ of the table, from there.

His brother lets out a breath, but seems momentarily mollified.

“Bring the leggy blonde, if you like,” he offers. “She’s prettier than most of your wh… I’m sorry, _escorts.”_

“No. Selene is getting to know Elgar’nan,” Fear says, and stands up, too, before moving swiftly the last free chair, on Falon’Din’s other side.

Fortunately, the dining room table is _long_.

Dirthamen sits on Falon’Din’s other side, and Mythal gets Elgar’nan back into his own seat. Andruil slides in next to her wife again, of her own accord, and Falon’Din sneers at Fear, while Dirthamen finds himself wishing that they had stayed seated next to Deceit, instead. It would be safer that way. Falon’Din has never forgiven Fear for breaking his nose at the hospital.

And Fear has never forgiven Falon’Din for leaving Dirthamen in the woods.

The atmosphere at the table is awkward.

After a few minutes, though, Elgar’nan launches back into his recitations. And Dirthamen holds out hope that things might not go so badly. Falon’Din eats, some, and glares a considerable amount. His mood is not its best. There is an edge to him, although what has provoked it, Dirthamen does not know. But he can tell it is only a matter of time, when his brother opens his mouth to protest the inanity of the conversation.

“Childhood is just eighteen years during which people are small, weak, and illegal to bone,” he snaps.

Des breaks it by tutting.

“Well _you’re_ not going to be allowed to visit our children unsupervised, I can already tell,” he declares.

Falon’Din pales, and his head whips to the side to glare at Dirthamen.

“You _knocked someone up?!”_ he demands. “You _fucking_ -”

“Des is speaking hypothetically,” Dirthamen hastily clarifies.

Falon’Din’s gaze narrows, and he looks at Selene again.

“Is it _her?_ ” he demands, before jabbing a dismissive thumb towards Fear. “I know it’s not _this_ frigid cunt-“

“LANGUAGE!” Elgar’nan bellows again, slamming his hands down on the table hard enough to knock over the salad bowl.

“Falon’Din-“ Mythal begins, as Sylaise and June both start taking long drinks from their glasses. Selene freezes up, and Des’ eyes narrow, and Deceit looks to be counting slowly backwards from ten. In his head, at least.

“No, the-” Dirthamen also begins.

He is not expecting his brother to hit him.

He does not know _why_ he is not expecting it. His eyes are furious. Usually Falon’Din does not strike him in front of so many witnesses, but if he is angry enough, he will. And the concept of Dirthamen having children, getting married, moving away – these things have always angered him. Always betrayed him, because when they were younger Dirthamen promised to never abandon him, to never put anyone else before him.

But that was before Falon’Din left him in the woods.

Before he didn’t come back. And Dirthamen had to walk, and walk, and find help. Imagining two ravens winging off of the road to his rescue. Dark wings and wool blankets, and tinny music playing from cheap headphones, as they drove down the long road back to civilization. Even then, though. Even then, Dirthamen had been waiting for his brother to show up, to come back, and find him.

Falon’Din had shown up at the hospital. Drunk and unimpressed.

Dirthamen knew he had gotten distracted. Forgotten about him. It was not… _entirely_ a betrayal.

But it felt like one.

It was the first step, for Dirthamen’s own part. To becoming a traitor. To stepping back, and breaking old promises made when they were both young. He had not thought breaking them would make him so much happier. The bite of guilt always seemed to come with a greater rush of relief, though. Not always right away. But eventually.

Falon’Din’s fist lands on his face, and Fear yanks him backwards as Dirthamen, surprised, slants away from the blow. Deceit catches his arm.

It is not so painful a blow, in the end. More reprimand than assault, by Falon’Din’s standards, but Dirthamen does not like that Selene and Des saw it. He does not like that anyone saw it, but Selene and Des, at least, had not seen it before.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” Sylaise mutters softly, against her glass.

“Get your hands off of me!” Falon’Din protests, trying to snatch his arm away from Fear. “He’s my brother, not yours, not _any_ of yours _._ You’re just some fucking leech that latched onto the first rich lackwit you could find, but you can’t even keep him all to yourself, hey? Guess even my clueless brother prefers a warm toy to fuck at night-“

That is when Des gets onto the table.

Elgar’nan swallows his next bellow in surprise. Des claps his hands together.

“So!” he says. “Not to interrupt, but no one else seems to have noticed that the curtains are on fire. Looks like magic – I’m guessing a fireplace glitch – so I’d recommend we all proceed out of the dining room in an orderly fashion. Maybe two by two?”

Dirthamen blinks, and looks, and sees that, indeed, the curtains around the dining room window _are_ on fire. They are perilously close to Selene, who seems more focused on glaring at Falon’Din; but when Des hops back down off of the table, he takes her by the arm.

Elgar’nan waves at him, though.

“Not to worry. Such things are my purview,” he announces, and attempts to dispel the flames.

They double in size.

“…Ah,” he manages.

It is rare for Dirthamen to see him caught so badly wrong-footed.

He finds he almost enjoys the moment, strangely enough.

“Yeah… so… two by two?” Des reiterates, as a fire alarm closer to the kitchen begins to shriek. There is the clatter of seats scraping across the floor, then, as Dirthamen’s family and relatives all hurriedly get up from the table. Fear maintains a grip on Falon’Din, despite his continuing efforts to dissuade them, while Deceit links arms with Dirthamen, and they progress out through the dining room doors, and then out of the apartment as well. Mythal is the one who phones to make certain the fire department is properly prepared.

They have finally made their way out to the street when Falon’Din doubles over, coughing.

“Oh no. Is it smoke inhalation?” Selene asks, in a tone of voice Dirthamen has not heard her use before.

“Must be,” Des replies, in a tone of voice which implies that he also noticed Fear hitting Falon’Din very swiftly in the crotch.

For a moment, Dirthamen is afraid that his brother is going to hit Fear in retaliation. But they move back before he can, taking a step away as Falon’Din dissolves into curses and accusations that do not, under the circumstances, look wholly sensible. Their father seems past the point of letting their mother calm him by now as well, as he rounds on Falon’Din, incensed.

“This is your fault!” he bellows.

Selene jumps.

Elgar’nan glares only at Falon’Din, however.

“You have enraged me so badly that I could not even extinguish the flames! Your foul-language and blathering hysteria may have cost me _another_ piece of property! How many etiquette classes did I send you to? And yet you learned nothing!”

“The fucking cunt-“

Elgar’nan storms towards Falon’Din.

It is reflex for Dirthamen to intercept. Darting out of Deceit’s grasp to put himself between father and brother.

“Father, he is not well,” he insists.

“He never has been!” Elgar’nan shouts, close enough to make his eardrums ring. “Not since his balls dropped and his brains fell out with them! LOOK! Now even my words have turned vulgar! I am not an angry man, but my sons fill me only with rage and bitter disappointment.”

The insult does not carry any sting. It is common enough.

“Dirthamen didn’t even do anything!” Selene snaps, apparently disagreeing on that point.

Elgar’nan blinks, and then glances towards her. Falon’Din manages to catch his breath again behind Dirthamen, in the span of the moment it takes Elgar’nan to apparently reconsider his stance.

Dirthamen waits for his customary response to such defenses of him – ‘nothing, of course he has done nothing, that is precisely the problem!’ – but instead, his father reaches over, and pushes him firmly back towards Selene.

She grasps his arm and reels him in, causing Dirthamen to stagger backwards a little. Her grip on his wrist is tight.

“True enough. I am not incensed with your brother, Falon’Din. He has always been strange! And unsettling! But those are not things he can help, and unlike you, he has some loyalty.”

“Loyalty?!” Falon’Din seethes, straightening back up to his full height. Towering over Elgar’nan; though Elgar’nan has never been cowed by it. Dirthamen knows the threat of his brother’s physicality is not entirely hollow, though. “Who is the heir of this family? Hm? Who was always meant to inherit all of this? You treat me like _crap,_ ” he protests. “I am your eldest son but you have _never_ given me my due! You’d let Andruil go gallivanting all across the globe, shooting things and f… and fighting things and doing whatever she wants. Dirthamen gets all the forgiveness, weak, stupid, worthless Dirthamen who _I looked after,_ while you and Mother were off building your fortunes, saddling me with his dead weight! And now sweet little Sylaise has run off and turned the traitor to Mother, but you want to tell me _I_ have less loyalty than these pathetic failures?”

“YOU THINK EGOTISM IS LOYALTY!” Elgar’nan bellows. “The only thing you are loyal to is yourself! I would have given you this company; but what I ask you for return, you are never willing or able to provide. Competence. Decorum. _Work_. Even a lack of embarrassment is too much to ask for! You cannot so much as attend a family dinner without turning it into a disaster!”

“Husband, please,” Mythal interjects, finally. Moving herself between Falon’Din and Elgar’nan, now. Elgar’nan budges, somewhat, at her touch. Falon’Din remains rigid, towering and incensed.

“I have given more than any of the others by now. What more do you want from me? Blood?” Falon’Din demands.

“Falon’Din,” Mythal chides, pressing a hand to his arm.

But Elgar’nan is not so easily calmed, now.

“Blood! Indeed I want blood!” he protests. “But you only know how to spill it! I have had enough. You will prove to me that you are capable of some modicum of responsibility. If you wish to keep your status, to remain my heir, and your mother’s heir, you _will_ give me grandchildren. Or I will cut you off and write you out of all inheritances I am able to! I will disown you, as the failure you are!”

The grounds in front of the apartment building go eerily silent.

It is June, of all people, who clears his throat first.

“Is Falon’Din really… _parent_ material…?” he ventures.

Elgar’nan glares directly into his eldest son’s eyes.

“He will learn to be. Or we are done,” he reiterates.

Mythal lets out a long breath, and Dirthamen feels a rush of relief. Mother. Mother will stop this from going any further; will reverse it to manageable levels.

“We will speak of this further,” she asserts, a little more sharply, now. “Elgar’nan. The apartment is on fire. We can hear the trucks coming. Now is not the time to be making ultimatums. Your blood pressure is up, you _know_ what the doctors have told you-“

“Bah!” Elgar’nan insists, but the hard wire of tension eases enough for him to be led away, falling into familiar habits with Mythal. Coaxed off of the edge of another cliff. Dirthamen looks at Falon’Din, who is furious and yet has no immediate catharsis for that fury. His brother looks back at him, and he knows he wants to strike him. But even more, it seems, he wants to strike the others. Fear and Des and Deceit and Selene, who are still crowded around Dirthamen.

Like a wall between them.

Dirthamen does not want them to get hurt. He wishes his brother reserved his anger for him alone.

The emergency services vehicles arrive, then. With roaring sirens too loud to be easily spoken over. Des informs the first responders that Falon’Din might have inhaled a lot of smoke and should have all pertinent and/or painful testing performed on him. Sylaise and June leave, first, to go home and ‘recover’ from the ‘dramatics’ of the evening. Andruil and Ghilan’nain decide to linger, to see if some of Andruil’s trophies will survive the blaze.

Selene throws up on the pavement, not long after, but she insists that she does not want to be looked over by medical personnel, so the five of them decide to head home.

Fear drives, with Selene in the front seat, with her window rolled down to help with her sudden nausea.

“So,” Des says, at length. “I think your father likes me. And, your brother is the kind of guy I would have avoided as a prostitute, on account of having that whole ‘will-totally-strangle-you-and-drop-your-corpse-in-a-harbour’ vibe.”

Dirthamen nods.

Selene brushes his cheek with her fingers. Lightly. He feels the beginnings of a bruise.

“I knew he was an asshole,” she says. “…Does your father always treat him like that?”

“Since highschool,” Dirthamen confirms. “Though they have had troubles getting along ever since Falon’Din was twelve. That was when he was suspended from school for using his lighter to burn a first grader.”

More silence follows.

“I really, _really_ hate your family,” Deceit says. “I mean, I hate Fear’s family, too, and also Selene’s. But I think I hate yours more because they’re rich. And rich people give horrifying punishments, like ‘become a father and probably condemn a small child to unending abuse to Learn Your Lesson’.”

“Yeah. That was weird,” Des agrees.

“My mother will talk him out of that idea,” Dirthamen assures them. “She knows Falon’Din would not be a fit parent. And if he fails at it, then our father will take custody of any child he has. My mother does not wish to raise any more children. Not at this time, anyway.”

“I feel like we should maybe go punch your brother in the nuts a few times, though,” Des offers. “Just to, you know. Make _extra_ sure.”

Selene makes a sound of agreement, before clearing her throat, and running a hand down her face.

“I’m sorry,” she says, quietly. “I’m so sorry. I… Dirthamen, that fire…”

“Did you start it?” he wonders.

Selene closes her eyes, oddly rigid. Her hand is still in his, but it feels stiff. As if she does not want to let go, and does not want to remove it. Fear glances back at them from the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t even realize,” she says. “It wasn’t intentional. When he hit you, it just… happened.”

Dirthamen leans over, and presses a kiss to her forehead. Forehead kisses are reassuring. Also for himself, he thinks, as the scent of her shampoo fills his nose, and he squeezes her hand in return.

“Do not tell anyone else,” he advises. “My father is often creating fire hazards and violating building safety codes. There will not be an investigation.”

Selene lets out a slightly strained breath. After another moment passes, she lets out a second one.

“That’s it?” she says. “That’s all anyone has to say?”

“Of course not,” Fear says. “Personally I would like to say ‘thank you very much’ for ending that dinner before it could go on any further. At first I was afraid that Des would contractually obligate us to procreate, and then I was concerned that one of us would murder Falon’Din. Which would be inconvenient. His family would likely feel obliged to prosecute, especially having witnessed the act, and they have very good lawyers. Though Sylaise might defend us.”

“Not for free,” Dirthamen admits.

“Ghilan’nain might pitch in for the costs,” Deceit points out. “But yes. Thank you for ending the evening, Selene.”

Selene sags against Dirthamen, just a little.

“I burned it down,” she repeats.

Des leans over, then, and gets his arms around both of them.

“No one liked that shitty apartment anyway,” he says.

“What if it got out into the rest of the building?” Selene worries.

“I doubt it. The place was huge,” Des counters, and Dirthamen nods in agreement.

“Most of the rooms are also warded to prevent the spread of fire damage,” he adds. “Likely, only the dining room was destroyed. My father will take the opportunity to remodel.”

Selene relaxes, just a bit more. Her tension seems to ease away by increments, and Dirthamen is glad for it. He knows she had a difficult visit to her mother’s grave. She came back with a bruise on her cheek she could not explain, and more relief than a usual homecoming would seem to merit. He is accustomed to his family’s quirks. He would not want her to think her actions unbecoming of them. Property destruction is not a major concern.

Things get easier once they get home, at least. Into the house. Everyone seems especially inclined to get out of their sweaters. Des pulls his off as soon as he is in the door, but Dirthamen retreats to his room to find something else to wear instead. Deceit declares that he is putting on the old Sailor Moon series and making popcorn, while Selene also goes to her room to change.

Fear follows her.

Des follows Dirthamen.

Dirthamen is not entirely surprised when Des ends up crowding him by his closet door, and pressing a kiss to his bruised cheek. Very gently, and deliberately.

“I am _sick_ of people hitting you all,” he declares. “It’s not allowed to happen anymore. I forbid it! Anyone tries it again and I’m breaking every finger bone they have to make a point about it.”

“I am sorry,” Dirthamen offers.

“Not your fault,” Des insists, wrapping his arms around him. Then he sighs. “Selene might be touchy for a bit. And I’m thinking you might be, too. If you need me to back off or come close, just say.”

He swallows, more moved than he might have expected. He is fairly certain it is his fault – he asked them to come, arranged for all of this, and knew the risks better than anyone else – but… it is nice, not to be blamed.

“I will,” he promises. “Thank you.”

Des lets out a breath.

“Come watch Sailor Moon,” he advises.

Dirthamen nods in agreement.

“I need a shirt,” he mentions.

But Des only snorts, and waves, and insists that he doesn’t. And… the house is warm enough, so Dirthamen supposes he is not wrong. He puts his sweater into his closet and lets himself be tugged back into the living room. Deceit is making popcorn, and by the looks of it, has turned on the new coffee machine as well. The Sailor Moon title sequence is playing on the television screen. Selene and Fear emerge before long, and Selene hesitates only a little before settling in at Dirthamen’s side, and leaning up against him on the couch.

After a few seconds of this, she sighs, and ends up slumped into Dirthamen’s lap. Tired from the unexpected and uncoordinated burst of magic, he thinks.

Fear takes their usual chair.

Des climbs into it with them, however, squeezing into the wide seat as he whispers something that makes Fear roll their eyes. They decline to push him back out of the chair, though. When the popcorn is ready, Deceit carries several mugs of cocoa – not coffee, after all – into the living room along with it, and takes up a post on the couch with Dirthamen and Selene.

“You know what I’m thinking?” he says.

“We should cosplay as Sailor Scouts,” Des suggests. “Selene can be Tuxedo Mask. She’d get a kick out of it.”

Selene makes an embarrassed noise, which probably means she would.

“Solid idea, but no,” Deceit replies. “I’m thinking we should go on vacation. Nona wants to meet you guys, and I can one hundred percent promise that she will not call anyone a misogynistic or anti-sex-worker slur, or really any kind of slur. Or a ‘bitter disappointment’. She might get us to stay at her and Gran-Gran’s house, but we can probably convince them to let us use the hotel if we pre-pay for it. And Rivain is really beautiful this time of year.”

Dirthamen contemplates the matter. As does everyone else, it seems.

“It’s a good idea,” Selene offers. “But… I think I’d like to just stay home, for a while.”

There is a softness to her tone that seems echoed by the softness of this place. He glances up at the walls around them. The now-familiar rooms, and furnishings, all arrayed in spaces that Dirthamen can now navigate in the dark, should he need to cross the house while everyone is sleeping. The idea strikes him well, he thinks.

Home.

He likes their home.

“I could go for that, too,” Deceit quietly agrees, leaning in against them. Fear nods, and Des hums, and Dirthamen murmurs his own agreement.

Home is good.


	16. Chapter 16

Dirthamen is the one who pulls the letter out of the household mailbox.

The envelope is strangely coloured, to his eye, and it draws his attention because the addresses are handwritten across it. The return address is in the Dales; the name _Alaris_ catches his eye, and attention. Selene and Des have both mentioned an Alaris affiliated with their old clan. Selene’s cousin, he believes? But the letter is addressed simply to ‘Des’.

Dirthamen contemplates the mystery for a moment, before bringing it inside, along with the rest of the mail.

“Des,” he calls. “You have a letter.”

“Ooh,” Des replies, skipping down the stairs two at a time. “Junk mail? Another ‘free cruise’? Or maybe it’s those Pyramid Scheme people again, they’re so _tenacious…”_

He trails off as he actually takes the letter from Dirthamen, and notes the text on it.

“…Oh,” he says.

Dirthamen hesitates. That is an odd tone.

“You do not have to read it,” he ventures. “If you would prefer…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Des declares. Breezy again, but it feels a little more forced. “Just unexpected. Don’t tell Selene, please. Not yet, anyway. I’ll do it myself, once I’m sure of… whatever it is Keeper Alaris is writing to me about.” He brightens for a moment, then. “Maybe Elrogathe died!”

Dirthamen blinks.

“Would Alaris not address such a letter to Selene?” he wonders.

“Not if he wanted me to break it to her gently,” Des replies, before proceeding to skip back out of the room. Dirthamen lets him go, and supposes he will find out the news eventually – if it is something he needs to know – and goes back to sorting out the mail.

It would be a lie to say that he does not contemplate the mystery, however.

Particularly when Des does not emerge from his room again that evening. Dirthamen can keep secrets, when he has to, but he wonders if he _should_ tell Selene, when dinner comes and goes and Des only responds to the knock on his door with a vague ‘I’m busy, thanks, I’ll eat later’. Which is… unlike him, to say the least.

Dirthamen himself knocks on his door, and then Deceit tries. Fear texts him. But Des only lets Selene into the room, in the end. She vanishes inside, and another hour passes.

“Worrying,” Fear decides.

Des did not say that Dirthamen could not mention the letter to Fear and Deceit. So, after a moment of further contemplation, he does.

“Do you think someone else died?” Deceit wonders.

“I do not think Des would be so perturbed by that,” Fear reasons, brow furrowing. “But… he used to date Alaris, did he not? Perhaps it is… perhaps Alaris wants him back?”

Deceit’s frown deepens, and they fold their arms.

“Alaris can’t have him back, he’s ours now.”

“He is his own,” Dirthamen counters. “He can make his own decisions. He can leave, if he wishes to.”

Deceit sighs.

“That’s not how I meant it,” they assure him. “Just… we’re not letting him go without a fight. Not a ‘let’s violate your personal autonomy’ fight. A ‘we value you so much and we should make certain you know that before you commit to any hasty decisions and book a midnight flight to run into your ex-lover’s arms and leave us behind’ kind of fight-type-thing.”

Fear turns, and heads towards the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Dirthamen wonders.

“I am making Des an ice-cream sundae,” they declare. “Des likes cherries. We have some.”

“Good! Yes, that might help him feel appreciated,” Deceit agrees.

“Or comforted,” Fear counters. “…But yes. Appreciation would not hurt, either.”

Dirthamen considers the matter, and then goes to fetch the fancy bowl from his crystal cabinet, that Des once said made him feel ‘very classy’ when he ate cereal out of it, shortly after they had first moved in. Deceit had mislabelled the dishware, and it had ended up in storage for a day before Fear could go and fetch it. Selene and Des had not brought very much dining ware themselves, so they had been forced to make do.

But Dirthamen does not mind. No one had ever actually used the bowl before, he thinks. It was a housewarming gift from one of his mother’s business rivals, when he first moved out.

He brings it, and Fear assembles the ice-cream sundae into it. After some consideration, they agree to let Deceit take it up to the bedroom, because Deceit is the most charming.

When Deceit comes back down a few minutes later, they are at least empty-handed.

“Selene took it in,” they admit. “But she said not to worry and that everything is fine.”

Fear and Dirthamen consider this.

“Was it her ‘everything is actually alright, I know you worry, so please don’t’ tone, or her ‘everything is on fire just beyond your line of sight, please don’t look’ tone?” Fear asks.

“Hard to tell,” Deceit admits.

Troubling.

After another ten minutes, Selene comes back downstairs, at least, carrying the empty crystal bowl and Des’ favourite spoon.

She looks at the three of them, still lingering conspicuously by the stairwell, and sighs.

“Everything’s fine,” she says, and Deceit was right; her tone _is_ hard to read, today.

“What’s wrong?” Fear asks.

“Nothing, really,” Selene insists.

Dirthamen does not need to look at the other two to know that all three of them are wearing expressions of skepticism.

She sighs again, and rubs at her forehead.

“It’s… complicated,” she admits. “We’ve been talking about an issue that’s come up. Unexpectedly. Des doesn’t really know what he wants to do, and that’s hard for him. And I don’t really know what to do either, to be honest.”

Dirthamen swallows.

“May we help?” he wonders.

Selene shakes her head, a little. But it does not seem to be a refutation; more frustration, perhaps.

“Maybe?” she allows. “Maybe, wait until tomorrow, though. He says he wants time to think it through, so, we should respect that. I mean we’re going to have to talk about it eventually – probably – but it’s just… the letter dredged up some things and normally he’s good about processing that stuff, it’s just that there’s a big decision to consider and _I_ don’t… anyway. I’ll stay with him, tonight. Talk it out some more and see if that helps.”

Dirthamen glances at Fear, and then at Deceit.

At length, Fear inclines their head.

“Alright,” he agrees. “If you need any of us, don’t hesitate to come looking, though.”

Selene smiles.

“I won’t,” she assures him, and hugs each of them goodnight, before she heads back up.

Dirthamen does not know the situation, still. But he thinks he understands, somewhat. For a very long time, Des and Selene only had each other. For a very long time, Dirthamen only had his brother. It is easy, when something alarming and unexpected happens, to fall back on old habits. In his own case, he thinks, this would ultimately be bad. But Des and Selene are not bad for each other; only slightly prone to becoming more insular than they like, when they are alone.

An evening together to consider whatever matter has come up may ultimately be what they need.

And it is important to trust their decisions, in this regard. Dirthamen goes to bed alone, although he does not sleep very well. He finds himself wondering what would happen, if Des left. Would Selene stay? Would they both go? Neither of them were happy in the clan, to hear them speak of it. But he cannot imagine them ever abandoning one another.

Then again, he reminds himself, he does not really know what has happened.

It is pointless to speculate with so little information.

…He does it anyway, for the better part of the night. Falling asleep only after the clock has struck three, wondering whether or not he and Fear and Deceit could manage living in a Dalish clan, if need be.

When Dirthamen wakes up in the morning, it is to his phone buzzing.

_Boarding a plane. Don’t worry. We’ll be back by tonight._

It is a text from Selene.

Despite her request, Dirthamen finds himself worrying very much.

 _Which plane? Where are you going?_ he texts back, barely awake.

_It’s ok! Des just got… spontaneous. We’re visiting the clan, we’ll be back soon. Everything is fine!_

Dirthamen texts another request for more information, but does not get a response. He climbs out of bed, hurriedly, and goes and wakes Fear and Deceit. They agree that the information is unnerving, but after a certain amount of conferring, there seems to be little they can do. Fear activates the tracking device in Des’ phone, but his phone appears to be shut off – which would be in-keeping with him being on a plane. After a few hours it lights up, however, and seems to be consistent with Selene’s brief explanation of their whereabouts.

“I am checking the flights,” Fear announces. “We can go after them.”

“Would that be presumptuous?” Dirthamen wonders.

“They left us,” Deceit bemoans, dropping their face into their hands. “What if this is their way of trying to break up with us?”

“Then it is impractical,” Fear reasons, in a stiff tone of voice that belies a great deal of anxiety. “We would not have demanded they abandon all their belongings and vanish in the early morning hours if they wished to leave us. We are not that restrictive or controlling.”

The three of them glance among themselves, and Dirthamen wonders if they somehow managed to be, without noticing.

Were they alarming? Did they take too much? Ask too much?

 _Assume_ too much?

“We should wait,” he suggests. “If they wish to have space, we should… let them have it. They did not ask for help.”

Is that right? Or would it be better to go after them? Is this one of this situations where people ask for things without asking for them, or one of those situations where words must be taken at face value, and choices must be respected? Dirthamen can never tell. He is not good at this concept. He is not innate eye for the difference, the code of it all.

“ _Or_ ,” Deceit counters. “We could get on a plane, fly over, be close at hand _if_ they need us, and then if they don’t, just fly back and act like we never followed them at all.”

Fear inclines his head towards them.

“I like that plan,” he decides.

Dirthamen is outvoted. That is almost a relief. He nods, still uncertain but willing to concede that he is the least suited to make such calls anyway, and Fear books their plane tickets. Only first class are available, but Dirthamen shrugs off the expense – as is his privilege. They bring one of Fear’s Emergency Supply Bags and their overnight things, just in case, and drive to the airport with only just enough time to board.

Selene texts them again before they do.

_We landed! Don’t worry about us! We’re okay!_

“Does that sound suspicious?” Deceit wonders, staring over Dirthamen’s shoulder.

“Maybe they were kidnapped,” Fear murmurs.

“I do not think so,” he replies. “But should I request a photo?”

They nod, and so Dirthamen does. Selene replies with a shot of Des driving an unfamiliar vehicle, with her thumb blurrily visible in one corner.

 _Reception is shitty. Talk to you later,_ she says.

Dirthamen’s replies do, then, proceed to go unanswered.

The three of them confer again, before deciding to keep with their plan. The flight is long. Fear does not do well on planes, and spends most of it with their eyes shut, and their head against either his or Deceit’s shoulder. When they land, Fear requires several moments in an airport bathroom to regain their equilibrium, before they decide to rent a hotel near to the airport and track Selene and Des’ progress. They would not be welcome on Dalish lands, and have little to no idea of how to navigate the roads that lead that way either.

They make their way to the hotel with little incident, and no further correspondence. Several more hours pass. They make some attempts at eating lunch, and Fear watches the tracking device flick on and off. Poor cell reception means poor tracking reception. Dirthamen supposes Fear is thinking about ways to improve upon the design, so that it does not happen again. Des had agreed to have the device installed, so Dirthamen does not think this constitutes a violation; he can turn it off, if he pleases.

Though, depending on what is going on, he may not recollect its existence right now.

The first text they get from Des comes in the early afternoon. It is sent to Dirthamen’s phone, and consists of a picture of an elven baby. A round, dark-skinned child, with large eyes, dressed in a cream onesie and looking rather uncertainly at the photo-taker.

_This is a cute baby, right? Like, she’s really cute, isn’t she? 5 star cuteness factor?_

Dirthamen reviews the text and image, perplexed.

“Is it in code?” Deceit wonders.

“Not an established one,” Fear assures them.

 _She is very cute,_ Dirthamen offers.

Selene texts next.

 _So there may be a… situation,_ she tells him. _We might be bringing a baby. Might be. Temporarily, probably, just for a little while._ _I’m going to text Fear so they’re prepared, could you warn Deceit? I don’t want to surprise people with a baby._ _If it’s a problem we can book a motel and stay there with her for a while._

Dirthamen shares the text, right around when Fear’s own phone jangles with the next message. Its contents are very similar, although Selene also mentions that she and Des made an abrupt departure in the morning, just in case Dirthamen kept it a secret.

He wonders if that was supposed to be inferred somehow.

Fear offers up their group response.

 _We are at a hotel near the Emerald Graves Airport,_ he admits. _If it is more convenient, you can come here first._

He sends Selene the name of the hotel, and their room number.

His phone buzzes again, not long after.

_You followed us._

“We were worried,” Deceit says, folding their arms defensively.

Fear relays the response, quite plainly.

 _Are you mad?_ he then wonders.

_No. I guess I should have expected it. We’ll be there in a few hours._

Dirthamen lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

Whatever is going on, he thinks, at least no one seems to be angry or in any immediate danger. That is a better starting point than most.


	17. Chapter 17

Des has never been easily rattled. He couldn’t be, of course. There were few constants in his life, growing up. Going from Aravel to Aravel, being sent from Clan Ralaferin to Clan Lavellan, leaving his first home with Selene and then leaving _again_ when the Carta came after them. 

Des knows most things are temporary. That it’s often not worth putting a lot of stock in things like The Future™, because it’s not guaranteed. Just enjoy the present to the fullest, because it’s all you’ve got.

But it’s also possible he wasn’t entirely lying, when he mentioned wanting children.

He just didn’t necessarily want any of his own.

He’s seen images of Aunts and Uncles who babysit other peoples kids, spoil them rotten, get loved to pieces, and then send them back home to let the parents deal with the fallout from the sugar and constant stimulation. Then the kids come screaming back all excited and happy the next week and give hugs and he gets to be their favorite family member. 

_That’s_ what he wants.

What Alaris is asking for though…That’s…That’s full on _parenting_. Discipline, and rules, and cleaning up diapers and setting boundaries and enforcing them. He’d be responsible for this poor kids life.

How could anyone think he’s capable of something like that?

 _Could_ he be capable of something like that?

He reads the letter over, and over, and over. A slightly older clan member who left shortly after he and Selene did. Had a kid recently, but ended up succumbing to demonic possession in the end.   
Des wonders if maybe he should have paid more attention to Thulin.

Alaris points out a few of the similarities between the situation and his own in the letter, as though Des might not have seen them staring him in the face if he hadn’t. As though he might’ve _forgotten,_ somehow.

Des has tried forgetting those pieces of himself.

Lyrium’s the only thing that’s come close to helping, though. And no matter how much his body is crying out for some right now, for the clarity, for the rush, for the _power_ …He can’t. Not here.

Not now.

Alaris has a point, though. Raising Thulins daughter with the people who slaughtered her mother will only lead to resentment. 

Des would know. 

No matter how many times Ralaferins keeper tried to comfort him, no matter how gently they would brush through his hair, or assist him with his magic, all he could see on their hands was blood. His mothers blood. The blood of so many other mages they had failed, and struck down for it.

It made hunting easier, at least. Blood on his own hands was just another way to try to fit in.

Dirthamen knocks on his door for dinner, but the thought of eating now just makes his stomach turn.

“I’m busy, thanks. I’ll eat later,” he calls through the door, still pacing back and forth in his bedroom.

He catches sight of himself in the vanity, and pauses.

Will he still be allowed to live here if he brings back a kid?

Will he be kicked out of their lives? Finally more trouble than he’s worth now that there’s a kid around?

…No, probably not. Dirthamen would adjust, most easily he thinks. Deceit could be a wild card, depending on who they feel like that day, but he’s pretty sure they mentioned wanting a kid one day. Fear won’t like the surprise, but they’re softer than they’ll admit. And Fear more than anyone would understand the risks to kicking a child out on the streets with an ex-junkie.

Sorry.

’ _Mage in Recovery_ ’, not ex-junkie.

Des lets out a heavy breath, sits down at the vanity, and begins to sort through his new nail polishes as a distraction.

What if he relapses? Kids shouldn’t be around that sort of thing.

Deceit knocks on the door, asks if he wants anything. Unsure of how to answer, Des just responds that he’s still busy, and he’ll be out later. His phone buzzes not long after that with a text from Fear.

Another hour passes, and Des’s nails have fully dried. His favorite magenta with a bold gold line slanting horizontally over his index fingers.

Selenes voice carries through the door.

Des stands to let her in; Selene always knows what to do. She’ll understand.

“What’s going on?” She asks as he closes the door behind her. “Dirthamen says you’ve been hiding in here for a while now.”

“Alaris sent me a letter,” Des admits. “I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Selenes eyebrows rise slightly in surprise at his indecision. “What…did the letter say?”

Des hesitantly hands her the letter, and starts rearranging his new nail colors into his larger collection and their respective box as he waits for her response.

“…holy _shit_ ,” she finally whispers, plopping down on the edge of his bed.

“I know.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d have an opinion.”

Selene winces “This…this really isn’t the kind of thing someone else can decide for you, Des.”

“I know! But this isn’t like ‘gee should I get that piece of lingerie in Dirthamens size or in Deceits’ this is 'what am I going to do with the next eighteen plus years of my _freaking_ life?’!” Des groans and reclines on his bed, feet up on his pillows as he settles his head into Selenes lap. “What would _you_ do?”

Selenes fingers stroke slowly through the strands of his hair. Soothing, and familiar, and in a way that makes him ache for a bottle of homemade mead in his hands while his mind recalls the smell of embrium on her fingertips.

“I…don’t think I’d make a very good parent,” she admits. “But I think you would, if you wanted to. You throw yourself into things fully, and without reservation. I think that’s a trait that would only aid you, if you decide to pursue this.”

Des opens his eyes, just to half-lidded as he glances up at her. “Would you leave if I chose to raise the child?”

Selene sighs, gaze dropping from his walls to meet his own. “Probably not. I don’t think there’s much you could do at this point to get rid of me.”

“…What about the others?”

Selenes face drops a bit, at that. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “They love you, so, _so_ much. That’s very clear. They wouldn’t kick you out I don’t think. I’ve never seen them around kids before though, so…I don’t really know, past that.”

“We’re really bad at this decision making thing,” Des muses “It’s a miracle anything gets done.”

“It’s a long term commitment. It’s alright to not have our minds immediately made up, I think.”

Des smiles at that, thankful for the reassurance that his uncertainty for what he wants isn’t a bad sign. His eyes slide closed again as Selene continues running her fingers through his hair. 

His mind wanders, imagining what it might be like to raise a child here. 

Fear picked a home near a good school district, and they still have a few spare rooms so one could be converted to a nursery without too much trouble. And she can always sleep in here until that’s done. 

Des could quit his job and stay home with her and Selene. Teach her how to read and walk and talk. 

Would she want to stay in touch with her roots? Will he and Selene have to teach her the elvhen they know? Will she want to go back to visit the clan? He wouldn’t like that, but he wouldn’t want to cut her off from them either, if she feels particularly drawn to the Dalish. He’d have to go, then. Selene can’t go alone, not after the last time.

Selene shifts beneath him when someone knocks on the door, and goes to greet whoever is on the other side. There’s a muffled conversation, and when she turns around it’s with a bowl of ice cream and more cherries than is usually allowed, in a bowl that he was once assured by Selene was much too important to eat out of regularly.

He raises an eyebrow at it, but takes it without complaint.

He still feels pleasantly decadent eating out of it, and finishes quickly.

Selene leaves to take the dirty dishes to be washed, and he goes to finish sorting through his colors.

When she returns, he pats the space in front of him on the floor. She relents, and holds out one hand while he begins to paint her nails a deep, saturated purple and they continue discussing options and different paths to take. The conversation continues until long past her nails are dry and she’s starting to doze off a bit. 

Des feels a little jittery still, but crawls beneath the covers anyways, safe in her arms as she holds him, her chest to his back and their legs tangled together.

He manages to get a few short bursts of sleep, but overall he finds himself just too concerned about the situation at hand to leave it alone.

Finally fed up with his own indecision, he turns, and gently shakes her awake.

Selene grumbles, one eye slowly opening, red and exhausted. He helps her sit up anyways while she rubs the sleep from her eyes.  
  


“We have to go get her,” he announces.

Selene blinks slowly as his words wash over her “Ok,” she agrees with a yawn. “We’ll tell the others at breakfast, and-”

“No, I mean we have to go get her now.”

Selene hesitates, turning on the screen of her phone to check the time. She winces as the light floods the room and lets out a heavy sigh “Des, it’s 4 in the morning…”

“Great, we can be at the airport by 6! I’ll order the tickets, go get your bag.”

“I could have to pack,” she grumbles back.

Des scoffs “You expect me to believe you don’t have a getaway bag in the back of your closet?”

Selene relents at that, and returns in a few moments wearing a change of clothes and a face that she clearly splashed cold water on as Des prints out their confirmation.

Her duffle is slung over her shoulder, and he grins.

“I’ll get us an Uber.”

–

They’re at the airport, Des trading in their confirmation for tickets while Selene silently praises the caffeine gods for the drink in her hands and stomach and realizes they forgot to leave a note.

She shoots Dirthamen a quick text, hoping to contain any panic that might happen when they wake and realize that she and Des have left suddenly and without warning. For good measure, she reminds Des to text his manager that he won’t be in to work today as well.

And then it’s time to board, and Selene swallows the too hot coffee as quickly as she can, following Des through the terminal and into their seats.

Des hands her a piece of gum for take off, and lets out a heavy breath once they’re safely up in the sky, his fingers twining through her own.

“We’re really doing this…” he mutters.

She squeezes his hand in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. “It’ll be fine. You’re going to be a great dad. Besides, this is hardly the craziest thing you’ve ever done. You slayed a dragon, after all,” she jokes.

Des grins back, his usual confidence slowly returning “That’s true. This is one lucky kid; how many can say they’re being raised by an actual dragon slayer who lived to tell the tale? And I guess her mom’ll be pretty cool too.”

Selene smiles, relaxing back into the seat as she tries not to think about her sudden upcoming motherhood.

She could really have used the nine months to prep, she thinks.

–

When they land, Selene pulls Des aside.

“I…brought our robes,” she admits.

“Seriously?”

“Well, we were going back to the clan, and when else were we gonna wear them, right?”

Des agrees, and takes his old mage robes and armor pieces from Selene before they commandeer one of the family bathrooms to change in.

“You know, while we’re here…” he purrs, fingers trailing up her bared sides.

“We are not walking into camp smelling like sex,” she says decisively.

Des lets out a put upon sigh but doesn’t push it any farther as he helps her secure her ties and she helps him fasten his own in turn. It’s strange, seeing her in the emerald greens and golds again. They still bring out her eyes in a way that makes her look more like magic than mage, and he can’t resist the urge to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes and press a soft kiss to her lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers, letting himself feel just a bit more vulnerable than he usually cares to as her forehead knocks gently against his own, and she ties off the leather belt on his waist.

She just gives him a soft hum in return, and he stares for a moment at his reflection in the mirror. His own robes still a deep reddish purple with black trim to help him remain hidden from sight while hunting. His nails are in stark contrast, a juxtaposition of the pieces of himself he’s carved in his new life to his old one in a way that makes him feel delightfully rebellious.

“Ready?” Selene asks, finally settling on leaving her own hair loose in what he knows is her own form of rebellion and tucking her old clothes back into her bag.

“Ready.” he announces, as they head out of the airport, and towards the old paths that lead back to Clan Lavellan.

–

The trip is shorter than he remembers. Longer legs, maybe. Or just not having to carry goods with them, or worry about keeping pace with anyone else. It’s probably the rental car that makes the biggest difference, up until they have to leave it in a parking lot and make the rest of their way on foot.

Either way, he’s still surprised to see the clearing when it reveals itself ahead of them.

Selene gives his hand one last squeeze and steps into camp first.

He almost doesn’t get her out of the way in time, but the familiar sound of a taut bowstring being released is all too familiar.

The arrow sticks into her arm, raised in surprise at his grip on her shoulder, and she yells out in pain. Better her arm than the head it was aiming for, though.

It doesn’t really make him any less angry.

“Who the _fuck_ -” he screams, all heads turning to face himself and Selene now, as Alaris runs out from one side of the camp, and Elrogathe steps out from the other, bow still in hand, another arrow resting but ready to be shot at a moments notice.

“I warned her,” Elrogathe says as though it a defense.

Alaris yells something in elvish Des doesn’t understand the exact meaning of anymore, but he knows it’s not something you want to hear from a Keepers mouth in any context.

Elrogathe, to his credit, shrinks back slightly, and doesn’t loose another arrow.

Alaris apologizes, and helps Des carry Selene back into his aravel while the rest of the clan whispers around them.

Des pretends not to hear words like 'cursed’ and 'demons’ being tossed around.

They settle her into a chair, and Des apologizes before roughly yanking out the arrow. Selene hisses and bites down on a piece of leather pressed between her teeth as she presses the wet gauze from Alaris onto the wound with enough pressure to hopefully slow the bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” Alaris sighs, handing Selene more gauze to help her patch herself up as best she can manage. “I didn’t know he’d- Mythals grace, what do I do when my _healer_ is the one trying to kill people.”

“It’s fine,” she lies. “I should’ve been prepared for it. But this isn’t why we came, so let’s just-”

“Right, right.” Alaris agrees, leaning down and lifting a small, dark, round child from a pile of cushions next to him. She is swaddled in a soft cream blanket and onesie, and sleeping as Alaris hands her over to Des. “This is Thulins daughter. We found her when Thulin…” he trails off, and Selene and Des just nod in understanding, having already read the letter.

Possession is often not a pretty incident to deal with.

Selene moves to look at the young girl over Des’s shoulder. Des is staring down at her in wonder, awkwardly adjusting his arms as though afraid that she might decide to suddenly fly out of them. The shifting wakes her though, face scrunching before her eyes blink open, and she stares up at the two of them.

A moment of silence passes, before Des quietly greets her with “Hello. Would you like to come home with us?”

The child, to her credit, doesn’t start to cry. Instead, she reaches up for a bit of Des’s hair that had fallen over his shoulder.

And _pulls_.

Selene moves in, carefully unwrapping the tiny fist with the hand on her still-good arm as quickly as she can manage. Her fist subsequently ends up around Selenes index finger, looking curiously at her still purple nails.

“You’re a strong _da'len_ aren’t you,” Selene smiles down at her. “You’re going to get into _everything_ , I can tell.”

“A little troublemaker,” Des grins.

“Just like her parents,” Selene laughs. It sends the little girl into a laughing fit too, shaking Selenes finger in her grip without any real control. Once she’s calmed a bit, Selene carefully pulls her finger back, and looks over at Des.

Des looks back at her, and hands the baby back to Alaris as he whips out his cellphone. The flash from his camera goes off, and he sends a quick text to Dirthamen along with the picture.

His phone rings again after a few minutes of cooing and playing with the baby while Alaris prepares a travel bag for and a bottle for them.

Selene checks it, and they share a slight breath of relief as she sends off the next series of texts to the others, and hopes they aren’t causing too much trouble for them already.

She laughs when they tell her they’re in a nearby hotel.

“They followed us,” she announces, and Des shakes his head.

“We should have known,” he shrugs. “It’ll make things easier at least.”

“The others are here?” Alaris says with the smallest note of panic in his voice. For all he doesn’t mind Selene and Des returning, he is still uncomfortable with total strangers wandering in and endangering his clan.

“They’re near the airport,” Selene assures him. “They know not to come _here_ , here.”

He relaxes a bit at that, and helps sling the pack of supplies over Selenes good side. He notes with concern that she is still bleeding through the gauze on her arm, but she assures him she’ll look at it properly once she’s able to do so safely. Des carries the baby, carefully feeding her the bottle as Alaris escorts the pair out of camp, sending a warning glare towards Elrogethe who is watching the procession from in front of his own aravel with a clear line of tension in his shoulders.

Keeper Alaris thanks them as they reach the edge of his land, and they promise to care for the baby and to keep him updated if anything happens.

And then it is just the two of them, traveling together through the trails with a baby, and a hope that no one will be lost when they finally arrive at the hotel.


	18. Chapter 18

When Selene and Des arrive at the hotel, Dirthamen notices two things straight away.

One, of course, is the baby. She is audible before she is visible. Dirthamen can hear the sound of crying, along with Des and Selene’s voices, as they make their way up to the hotel room. Fear is already waiting outside the door, and ushers them in swiftly. Des is carrying the baby, though he seems frazzled by the crying, and Dirthamen finds himself momentarily taken aback because…

Perhaps, on some level, he thinks he was not expecting her to be real?

Which is strange, given the adequate forewarning of the situation. But there is something just very striking about the fact that she is. She is real, and small, and crying, with her fists balled into Des’ collar and her round cheeks wet.

The second thing that Dirthamen notices is that Selene is bleeding through a bandage on her arm.

Fear seems to have noticed that as well, and immediately begins fussing over it, while Deceit closes the door to the room and heads over to Des and the baby.

Dirthamen stands there for a moment. At something of a loss.

“It’s alright,” Selene asserts. “It’s mostly healed, I just stretched it too much when I was closing the trunk.”

“Why’s she crying?” Deceit asks, in turn, tutting over Des and the baby. “Is it the blood? Is she scared? Poor baby, you’re okay…”

“She’s wet,” Des says, a little wryly. His hair is tied up and back, Dirthamen notes, well outside of grasping range. But Deceit has not taken such precautions, and as they lean closer, the baby’s crying halts for a moment as she looks at them. Wet eyes blinking and breaths stuttering, before she reaches over, and closes a fist on a lock of Deceit’s hair, and _yanks._

“Ow, ow, ow!” Deceit gets out, even as Des reaches out to counteract the gesture.

“Okay, okay!” Des says. “Yes, Deceit has pretty hair, but let’s not yank it out of their head. Do any of you know how to change a baby? Please say yes, it’s really my least favourite part of childcare.”

Selene snorts, as Dirthamen finally remembers he can move, and goes to join Fear in inspecting her injury. It is, as she claimed, mostly healed – though it looks like something considerable jabbed her. It reminds Dirthamen of an injury he got once when a classmate left a pair of scissors jutting out of the side of their desk.

“Just change her, Des, we can work out who knows how to do what when she’s not crying,” Selene advises, as the baby begins to make distinctly unhappy noises again.

Des sighs, but relents, and Dirthamen lets his attention shift back over to him and the baby, as he clears off a space on the hotel desk. He seems to know what he is doing, at least. Deceit used to babysit when they were a teenager, and they also do not appear to be completely clueless, as they lend a hand with the process. Dirthamen himself has only a theoretical knowledge of how changing a baby is meant to work. He observes, as she does seem to settle down, content with trying to grab Deceit’s hair again as Des makes faces at her soiled diaper, and pulls wipes and a replacement from the large, quilted bag Dirthamen had scarcely noticed Selene bring in. The room goes oddly quiet, as everyone seems to be caught by the moment.

It does not smell pleasant.

But Des seals the soiled diaper into a garbage bag, which helps the situation.

“Those are the reusable kind,” Selene tells him.

“I’m not washing diapers,” Des counters. “Especially not in a _hotel._ We’re throwing this one out.”

The baby seems much relieved by her new diaper, and after a moment, begins to look around more. Her expression is very good at conveying uncertainty, as she looks at Dirthamen, and Selene and Fear, and then Des and Deceit again.

“Adaba,” she burbles. “Ba?”

“Babae?” Des asks.

“Bababa,” the baby offers, kicking her small legs and waving her arms. The desk surface is not ideal for her; she nearly knocks a fist against it, before Des scoops her back up again. And then he walks over and plops her into Dirthamen’s arms.

“Here,” he says. “Hold this, I need to lie down for a century.”

Dirthamen freezes, and immediately tries to remember how a person is supposed to hold a baby. Support the head and bottom, be gentle, don’t drop her, he thinks. He maneuvers his arms awkwardly for a moment, while the baby’s look of uncertainty increases.

“My apologies,” he tells her. “I have not held many infants.”

The baby reaches a hand up towards his face, and attempts to stick a finger into his nose.

“I would not advise that,” he says, squinting and tilting his head back. “There is nothing of interest to you up there.”

The baby persists, however, until Selene manages to get away from Fear’s fussing long enough to come over and catch her tiny hands. Which is a relief, because Dirthamen was too worried about dropping her to move his own. He does not mind holding her, though, he finds. He is not certain he is doing it right, but Selene merely shifts his grip a little, and then gestures at him to settle into one of the hotel chairs. Which does make things a bit easier, since he can use his lap to his advantage as well.

The baby kicks a bit, and narrowly avoids connecting with Selene’s chin. Des sprawls on the couch, and lets Deceit steal a hair tie from him, while Fear seems to look over the whole room with a particularly calculating gaze.

“So,” Fear finally says. “What happened?”

Des shrugs.

Selene lets out a long breath.

“Really? You’re going to make me explain?” she asks, glancing over at him.

Des lets out a sigh of his own.

“Introductions. Des Junior, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Des Junior. Her mother was a member of Clan Lavellan. I say ‘was’ because she has since passed away. So has her father. The circumstances of their deaths were obviously not a tiny baby’s fault, but sometimes people have troubles comprehending the particulars of that kind of thing. Anyway, she’s cute, right? I mean she kind of dropped the ball on making a good first impression but nobody’s on their A-game when they’ve just soiled themselves. Let’s not hold it against her.”

Deceit looks momentarily pained.

“Her name’s not actually Des Junior, right?” they ask.

Selene shakes her head, while Des musters an expression of what Dirthamen suspects is mock offense.

“Desire is gender neutral, and considering her tragic backstory basically makes her a mini-me, I don’t see what’s wrong with that name. It’s better than _Mana’Din,_ which is what the clan wanted to call her. ‘Time for Death’ or whatever it’s supposed to mean.”

“Alaris said it was ‘no more death’,” Selene offers, though she doesn’t seem very taken with the name, either.

“Who puts d _eath_ in a _baby’s_ name?” Des counters.

There is a moment, then, as everyone glances awkwardly towards Dirthamen. Likely because of his brother’s name.

“My brother is named after a god,” he offers.

“And look how _he_ turned out,” Des mutters. The baby seems uncertain of the scrutiny she is being subjected to, again. She reaches up and gasps Dirthamen’s chin, and Dirthamen looks down and offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Did you steal the baby?” Fear asks, which earns him an affronted look from Selene, and a negligent wave from Des.

“You think we’d _steal_ a baby?” Selene asks.

Fear blinks, and then shrugs.

“I only need to know for the paperwork,” he says. “We have to cross the border to get back home again. I assumed we would fly, but infants dislike planes. So maybe we should take some other mode of transportation.”

“Right, _infants_ dislike planes,” Deceit notes, wryly.

They bicker for a moment, then, debating the particulars of getting back home.

“I do not think Mana’Din is a bad name,” Dirthamen offers to the baby, as she blinks up at him. She is a good baby, he thinks. Complicated, but then, life is often presenting complications. It will be difficult to keep her existence a secret from his parents. He had better not apply his name to any legal paperwork, at least, not until they have a better plan worked out.

There is a moment of quiet, again. Selene sags into the chair next to Dirthamen’s. She smells like sweat and the kind of air Dirthamen associates with nature trails, and she seems as if she is very tired, and also trying not to be.

“So,” she says.

“So,” Des adds.

Dirthamen, Fear, and Deceit all glance at one another.

“This is… unexpected,” Fear offers. “We do not have a nursery.”

“I can call in some favours,” Deceit says. “I know we don’t want Dirthamen’s family beating down the door as soon as we get back. But I mean, it’s not like we don’t know people who are good at setting things up in a hurry. I’ll make some calls. We can at least have a crib and some stuff ordered and moved in before we get back, especially if one of us goes ahead to supervise.”

“I can go,” Dirthamen offers. “I can fly back. I do not know much about infant care yet, so I do not know how helpful I would be in transporting the baby anyway.”

Fear nods.

“It is probably best if it is you,” he agrees. “You are the most likely to draw photographers, too, which could lead to word getting back to your family, if you are spotted with an infant.”

“Hey, you and I draw plenty of photographers,” Deceit points out. “We’re a _sensation,_ and unlike him, we don’t wear masks on stage.”

Fear just shrugs.

“All the more reason to avoid flying back, then,” he counters. “We can take a rental car.”

Deceit points at him.

“If we do, I’m driving,” they insist. “You already drive slower than Nona and with a baby in the backseat, you’ll have us crawling along at forty miles per hour down the highway or something.”

“I would drive at a _reasonable speed,”_ Fear counters. “It is unsafe to go too slow on a highway.”

Des makes an odd sound.

All eyes turn towards him, then, as he makes it again, and covers his face with his hands. For a moment, Dirthamen is worried that he is crying. But then he drops his hands back down, and he seems to be laughing, instead.

“You,” he says, towards the ceiling fan. “I love you.”

Dirthamen feels warm.

Deceit glances up towards the ceiling fan, and narrows their eyes.

“Fight me,” they say, which makes Des laugh, and Fear shake their head, and Selene roll her eyes. She leans across her own seat, closer to Dirthamen, and smiles down at the baby.

He moves close enough to press a kiss to her temple.

“It has been a long day?” he guesses.

“Oh, just a little,” she replies. He can hear the exhaustion in her voice, and thinks that, perhaps, she and Des should both be tucked into one of the hotel beds, to sleep off what has been such an eventful stretch of time. But the baby is still very awake, and judging by the way she is starting to squirm in his arms, in need of something. Though Dirthamen is uncertain of what.

“She’s probably hungry now,” Selene supplies.

“Formula?” Fear asks.

“In the bag,” she confirms. Deceit is the one who moves towards the bag, though, and fishes out a bottle, and a packet with a pastel halla on the front. The hotel has a kettle, at least – meant for making tea – but Deceit seems to know what they’re doing, as they set about getting the formula ready instead. Dirthamen watches with some interest. It looks different from the process he has seen on television. The baby begins to make noises of complaint, and mouths at the side of Dirthamen’s hand.

And then she lets out a single, rather demanding little shriek, that startles Deceit so badly they nearly drop the bottle, and has everyone looking at her again.

“…Holy shit,” Des murmurs.

“Don’t swear in front of the baby,” Selene instructs.

“She’s like a baby bird,” Dirthamen notes, thinking of the fledging crow nest that was once a seasonal feature outside of his bedroom window, back when he was a child.

“Angry little parrot,” Des mutters, amused.

Letting her mouth at his hand seems to help appease her for the moment, though, so Dirthamen permits it, glad that he washes his hands routinely. Selene reaches over and brushes a finger across her forehead, and leans against Dirthamen’s shoulder, while Fear moves over towards Des and pretends that they are not checking on him in turn.

“Birds are good,” Selene says.

“When we were younger, Gran-Gran used to call Fear _Kel’din_ sometimes _._ Was a local elven word for Rivaini magpies,” Deceit offers. “There’s, uh. A certain visual congruity between Fear and them. Though it was a lot more pronounced when he was going through his awkward gangly growth spurts. Anyway… maybe we can just call her _Kel,_ until we decide on something better?”

Selene shrugs, and Dirthamen nods in agreement. Fear also seems to find that acceptable, although Des manages a cursory protest that there’s nothing wrong with ‘Des Junior’. He does not seem genuinely invested in that name, though.

And Kel herself offers no objections, when Dirthamen asks her. Only kicks her legs and looks impatient to be fed.

“You are a good baby,” he decides, and relinquishes her once the bottle is ready. Deceit has experience feeding infants, though they insist that they are ‘rusty’.

They work things out, though.

And Dirthamen supposes they are _all_ going to have to work things out, now.


	19. Chapter 19

It doesn’t take long for the household to adjust to Kels presence.

One of the spare rooms is converted into a nursery, complete with a crib, a swing, a nightlight and an entirely too large box of very soft toys. 

When she wakes up early in the mornings, Des holsters her into a shoulder carrier and bounces her along to his yoga routine. By then, Fear is often ready with a bottle of formula and packed lunches for everyone who needs them. Selene slumps her way to the coffee maker, and takes Kel from Des for a clothes and diaper change. The two give each of the others a goodbye kiss, and Selene takes Kel outside for fresh air as she works on the garden.

Kel babbles along to Selenes quiet singing, as she waters and prunes the growing plants. When tiny fingers reach out to yank at a not-yet-ripe strawberry, Selene picks a snow-pea pod off for her to chew on, instead. She coos at the offering, gumming at the green shell while Selene finishes picking out vegetables to use with tonight’s dinner.

The two make their way back inside, and Selene washes the dirt from the garden off the vegetables before setting them aside in a strainer for later.

Kel sniffs again, and Selene looks down to notice her trying to actively eat the snow pea. She carefully pulls it away before she can accidentally choke on any, and decides it’s probably best to feed her again. Shuffling through the cabinets, Selene frowns.

“You’ve been extra hungry lately, huh?” she asks the child slung over her chest.

Kel just babbles back at her though.

Selene manages to find a small bottle of pre-made mix, and prepares it for Kels lunch. Not enough for another bottle later, though.

She checks the time; it’ll still be several hours before anyone comes back home.

“Alright,” she decides with a smile. “You wanna go on an adventure?”

Kel squeaks happily at that, and Selene takes it as a firm yes.

Slipping into her boots, she grabs a bit of cash for the two of them, and makes their way to the bus stop.

  
Public transportation with a little one is different, Selene notes. People offer their seats, and she thanks them as she sits, adjusting Kel to sit up so she might stretch a little. They pass the trip making funny faces at each other, Selene puffing up her cheeks while Kel ‘pops’ them with a series of giggles. Eventually, the bus comes to a stop near the grocery store and Selene carries Kel inside in search of more formula.

“Which one do you like…” Selene muses as she stares at the wall of choices.

Kel just blinks up at Selene in what, for a baby, seems like a very clear 'how am I supposed to know’ manner.

Selene shoots off a quick text to Fear, in hopes that he is near to his phone and might respond quickly. In the meantime, she wanders through the rest of the store, snagging a few more packages of wipes and a bag of grapes to freeze for the upcoming heatwave.

She’s looking over the ingredients list for a new cereal when someone taps her shoulder.

Selene whips around, and is more than a little shocked to see June with a cart stuffed full of rice krispies, butter, and marshmallows.

Who, at least, seems equally shocked to see her with a baby.

Well.

Shit.

“Uhhh….”she stammers, one hand moving to cover Kels eyes, as though perhaps maybe if she can’t see _him,_ he won’t see her.

“That’s a baby,” he says, leveling a finger at the squirming Kel and looking very judgingly at Selene.

“Uhh…………”

“That’s a _**baby.**_ ” he repeats with emphasis.

“It’s….not….mine?” she lies.

“Is it Dirthamens?”

“Uhhh….”

“Is it _Falon'dins?_ ” he hisses.

“Of course not!” Selene snaps. “She…” Selene groans “It’s complicated.”

“So it _is_ your baby.”

“…Yes.”

“Holy shit.”

“Please don’t curse in front of her.”

“Does that mean she _is_ Dirthamens kid?”

Selene visibly winces. “Uhhh….”

Junes eyebrows shoot up. “Elgar'nan doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t _need_ to know!” Selene assures him immediately. “It’s not-she’s-that is, we’re….uhhh…..”

“Does Mythal know?”

“No one knows. There’s nothing to know! We’re just….babysitting?”

“Uh-huh,” He deadpans “For how long?”

“…like, eighteen years?”

“ _ **Selene holy shit**_.”

She bounces the box of cereal in her hands gently against the top of Junes head in reprimand “Don’t curse in front of her.”

“Elgar'nans gonna lose it if you don’t tell him. You could get like, _way_ ahead of the rest of us if you tell him you know.”

“I’m not really looking to get in his good graces,” Selene admits “I’m perfectly content to just be a side note, since he apparently rates us by _fertility_.”

June scoffs “Yeah, that’s…I get that.” he lets out a low whistle, carefully prying Selenes hand off of Kels eyes. “She’s cute.”

  
Selene nods, and bites down on her bottom lip. “Listen, June…You…you can’t tell anyone. **Seriously**.”

“Well I _have_ to tell Sylaise,” he says, straightening his back. “But I won’t tell the others, if you’ll do something for me.”

Selene hesitates, before slowly motioning for him to continue.

June shuffles out his wallet, and hands Selene one of the cards for what she assumes is the new business he and Sylaise have started.

“What is this?” Selene asks anyways.

“An address, mostly,” June smirks. “We’re still having some light remodeling done on the building. Show up there tomorrow around noon for your interview.”

Selene blinks. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry, my _what_?”

“You’re like a freelancer, right?”

“I write math textbooks. You two going into that?”

June shrugs “We could, I guess. But Sylaise and I could use workers that won’t jump ship as soon as Mythal offers them a better contract. Since I know _you_ know we’re the lesser evil, you seem like a safe bet.”

“I have to watch K-the baby,” Selene says, shaking her head and holding the card back towards June. “I can’t take on a full time job right now.”

He pushes the card and her hand back towards her chest with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll work something out,” he grabs his cart again, and continues down the aisle with a wave “See you tomorrow. We’ll buy you lunch!”

Selene stammers to herself, weighing the pros and cons of ‘accidentally’ running him over with her shopping cart and cursing lightly under her breath.

This is…this is not good.

Kel wiggles her fingers towards the card curiously though, and Selene hands it to her without hesitation, watching as she gums at one of the corners.

She pays for her things, once Fear responds with the formula type, and the bus ride back home is quiet enough that Kel falls asleep with the rocking motion of it.

Selene carefully carries her up the stairs, and puts her in her crib while still thinking too much about June’s offer.

Des comes home not long after, and immediately takes note of Selenes distraction.

“Everything ok?” he asks, dropping his lunch bag on top of the refrigerator.

“No,” Selene groans to the ceiling. “Help me.”

Des nods, and sits beside her on the couch, patting his lap invitingly. Selene plops down and lets out a heavy breath.

“I got a job offer.”

“And that’s…bad?” Des asks.

“It’s from June.”

“Oh. That _is_ bad.”

Selene groans again.

“Fear isn’t going to let you take it. Dirthamen won’t want you to either, for that matter. What are you worried about?”

“He saw me with Kel.”

“Oh _shit_.”

Selene throws her hands up in the air in a clear 'I KNOW’ manner, narrowly avoiding Des’s face.

“So,” Des muses “June saw you with a baby, went 'wait Elgar'nan hasn’t mentioned a baby’ and realized we were hiding her, so now he’s blackmailing you into working for him?”

“And Sylaise, I think,” Selene agrees. “He was pretty vague on the details.”

Des hums, fingers drumming contemplatively on her stomach. “You’re pretty fucked.”

“Thanks, Des.”

“Potentially literally.”

“ _Thank you,_ Des.” Selene gripes.

“D'you wanna run?”

Selene blinks, and looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. Des just shrugs though.

“Just following your patterns.”

“No,” Selene admits. “I like it here. I love the others, and I don’t want to leave them. I think they’d chase after us for Kel, anyways.”

Des nods, clearly relieved at her answer. “So you’re gonna go then?”

“I guess?” She sighs. “I’m gonna wear like, torn jeans and the over-sized sweater though. I’m not dressing up to interview for a job I don’t want.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Fear’ll probably give you some more. Dirthamen might even have dirt on them we can use to avoid this entirely.”

“Y'think?”

“Seems like his sort of thing.” Des nods.

The moment is broken as a shrill cry rings through the house.

“You go get Kel,” Selene instructs, patting Des’s leg as she readjusts. “I’ll make her a bottle, and start prepping dinner.”

Des groans a bit, but stands and stretches out his arms.

“Dinner should make for interesting conversation, anyways.” He calls as he makes his way up the stairs.

Selene can’t really argue that.

She also can’t say she isn’t potentially excited to work again.

She just wishes it were under better circumstances.


	20. Chapter 20

June leaves the grocery store, and has to resist the urge to practically run to his car. He tosses his groceries into the trunk, and pulls out his phone as he settles into the driver’s seat. Attaching it to his hands-free dash station, before commanding it to phone Sylaise.

It takes a few tries for her to pick up. Not surprising, considering it’s the middle of the day, and she probably has meetings. June is all the way to the first crosswalk before he hears her voice.

“Darling?” she says. “Is everything alright?”

“It might be better than alright,” he replies, waiting for the light to change. “You’ll never guess what I saw at the grocery store.”

There’s a brief pause.

“What on earth could you have _possibly_ seen at the grocery store that would merit calling me in the middle of the day?” Sylaise wonders, sounding genuinely perplexed.

“Selene,” June supplies. “You know, Dirthamen’s latest? The blonde? She was shopping for things, and she wasn’t alone. She had a _baby_ with her.”

He hears Sylaise suck in a breath through her teeth.

“Falon’Din’s?” she wonders.

“No,” he replies. “I asked, and it was pretty clearly _Dirthamen’s_ baby.” The light goes green, and he crosses, tightening his fingers against the steering wheel as his own mind turns the matter over again. The baby hadn’t actually _looked_ like Selene, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Babies often took a while to resemble their parents, as June understood it, and genes could be odd. And adoption was also a thing.

“If Dirthamen has a baby, that gives him an advantage, doesn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily jump to that conclusion,” Sylaise replies, and he can almost hear her thinking. “In his case, not so much. Father will start singing his praises, but Dirthamen has always been _Mother’s_ favourite. And she will not be happy with him if he’s gone and unbalanced the ‘delicate lines of power’ that she’s so anal retentive about controlling.”

“Maybe that’s why Selene asked me not to say anything,” June muses.

“I couldn’t say for certain, unless we managed to get to know her better,” Sylaise tells him.

He smiles to himself.

“Well, we might have a shot at that,” he says. “I gave her my card. You were saying that you wanted us to look into hiring some help? Well. Here’s our starting point, honey. Happy First Date Anniversary.”

“What a sweet surprise,” she coos at him, and then chuckles to herself. “We can talk about it more over dinner tonight. I have to go, Serahlin’s here and it looks like she founds something on the Theirin custody case. Kisses!”

June makes a kissing sound in the general direction of the phone, and then hears the _click_ of his wife hanging up.

Dinner should be interesting, he thinks. She wouldn’t say as much on the phone at the office, but he knows Sylaise has been desperately wanting some kind of sway over her brothers for years. Falon’Din is quite possibly the most awful person June has ever met, and Dirthamen is… weird. But they’re also the eldest children, and pivotally, while Dirthamen might be one of Mythal’s best assets, Falon’Din is a disaster who could sink her, if only they could press him the right way.

And both of them agreed, after the apartment fire, that Selene was _easily_ the best-looking person in Dirthamen’s little pack. Legs for miles, and apparently a little nerdy, too. And bizarrely normal-seeming, all things considered. The other one, Des, had struck June as more of a standard Fear-and-Deceit type. Dark hair, big mouth, lots of eyeliner. Selene is an outlier.

Not for the first time, June wishes he had his father’s eye for patterns. Haninan would probably see how they all linked together a lot better. To June’s eye, the group of them all together mostly looked like the results of some promotional shoot or other; some photographer going ‘we need contrast’ and sticking a leggy blonde in with the emo-goth kids. Or maybe the cast of some kind of sitcom. What happens when four questionable drug addicts rent the apartment across from a kindergarten teacher? Tedious hijinks, no doubt.

He puts on one of Dirthamen’s band’s songs, and listens to it the rest of the drive home.

When he gets to the main house, the housekeeper is in, cleaning up some of the bathrooms. June leaves him to his work, and heads for his Modelling Room. Mysteries aside, he has been working on a scale model of Val Royeaux made out of rice krispies ever since his vacation time started, and the project is nearly done. Ordinarily he’d consider himself well-past such tacky mediums, of course, but it makes his father happy. And he needs some cheering up, after the accident.

As if on cue, June feels his phone buzz as he drops his purchases onto the counter near to the crafting table, and fishes out to find a text from his Mamae.

_El’Samahl went shopping and got you a new jacket! It’s so fetching. You’re going to look very handsome in it._

June looks at the photo attached, and smiles a little. It is, in fact, a very nice jacket. On-trend, trim, with a bold orange collar to give it a little pop. El’Samahl has always had good taste. June can credit nem with getting him through most of his school photo days without looking like an awkward disaster.

 _I’ll send someone to come and pick it up,_ he replies. Maybe he’ll call his assistant. Or Cherry, they’ll be getting off work soon and might be able to stop and pick it up for him. They like visiting his parents almost as much as he does, so it’s probably a winning idea.

 _You should come over yourself, Papae’s awake,_ his mother counters, though.

He sighs.

_I wouldn’t want to disturb his resting._

_He’s been resting all day! And he was asking for you. It’s okay if you can’t, but it would be a nice surprise for him. He’s bored._

June glances at his project, does some quick mental calculations, and then shakes his head. He gets his keys back out of his pocket, and puts his new materials down again for now. If he goes over he’ll probably end up staying until he has to go to his anniversary dinner, and that will put him back on completing his project. But it’s still half an hour before Cherry is off work, and if his father is already climbing the walls a little, then he’s probably miserable.

He abandons the prospect of completing his project today. It’s for his father’s sake, anyway, so what good is it if he leaves him to feel frustrated while he works on getting it done?

 _I’ll be there in a few,_ he agrees, heading back up the stairs. He fires off a text to Sylaise as well, for good measure, letting her know that he’s going to his parents’ place, just in case something he happens and he ends up running late. She’ll understand. She was the one who finally convinced his family to move to the city. To be closer to the two of them in case they ‘started a family’, but also to make certain his father had access to the medical facilities he needed.

The best doctors and healers, and connections that could slip him past the usual waiting lists for a heart transplant.

June knows he’s a lucky man. He would have married Sylaise just for those things, for her money and status and ability to help his father.

But he loves her, too.

Funny how life works out sometimes. June’s starting to think that even if he didn’t inherit his father’s talents and genius, or his mother’s charisma and magical aptitude, he managed to get some strange variety of, well. _Luck_.

Finding Selene in that grocery store is just making it look all the more plausible.

Of course, June is not whimsical. Luck is nothing to bank on.

But it’s… a bit pleasant to have, just the same.


	21. Chapter 21

Deceit supposes he should have seen this coming.

When they had first decided (as a group, he would like to point out) to modify Dirthamens costume for the concert, they had certainly known it would elicit a reaction from Des and Selene.

That was the point, after all.

So, a pair of dark thigh high stockings peaking out from the slit of his cloak later, their enthusiasm for the night was expected. He knew something was coming as soon as Selenes eyes got heavy and focused on the bare skin peaking out above the lace from his place on the stage while Des whispered ideas in her ear and laced their fingers together in the front row of the filled arena.

They finished the performance of course (They’re professionals), and even managed a few encores before Selene and Des slipped himself and Dirthamen back into the car, while Fear assisted a few hired hands with loading the instruments into the work van for a studio recording in the morning.

The drive back was quiet, but focused. Selenes leg bounced against the floor of the front passenger seat while she stared out the window contemplatively, and Des zoomed through any yellow lights on their way.

It wasn’t even particularly startling when they entered the house, and Selene grabbed the lapels of his coat in her hands and crushed her lips against his.

Des and Dirthamen wandered up the stairs, more exploring touches than passionate pauses while Deceit preoccupied himself with the warm taste of Selenes mouth, the taste of the apple cider and whiskey she had had still thick on her tongue.

She does eventually pull herself away with a groan, leading him up the stairs as she shucks off layers of his clothing. His coat, shirt, and undershirt are finally left draped over the banister as she pulls him into Dirthamens bedroom by his belt.

Des has managed to get Dirthamens own clothing removed already, he notes with amusement; their boyfriend has been left in nothing but the stockings and boots, propped up in Des’s lap on the edge of the bed.

He doesn’t have much time to enjoy the sight though, as Selene carefully pushes him down to the bed, straddling him and prying his mouth open with her own.

Deceit lets out a pleased groan, grinding his hips up towards hers while her fingers roam up his chest. She rubs tenderly at his biceps, nudging him until his arms are up above his head. Lips trailing down his jaw and neck, Deceit can feel his own arousal growing uncomfortable in its confines, and calls out her name. Selene just hums in return, mouthing over his collarbones.

Then comes the click.

Deceits eyes blink open in time to see Des grinning down at him, fingers wiggling in a teasing wave while Selene straightens and moves off of the bed.

“Uh...?” He asks pointedly, as the two stand and walk away from him.

Not his most eloquent moment he’ll admit, but most of his blood supply is considerably farther south than usual.

Selene pats his leg consolingly. “Don’t worry,” she says, as a grin that leaves him both nervous and excited spreads across her face. “We won’t do anything crueler to you, than you did to us.”

He really should have seen this coming.

But he can’t complain about the show. It’s not often Selene takes control of everything, but when she does, it’s quite a sight.

One he’s reminded of all too well as she cups Dirthamens face in her hands, kissing him deeply while Des wraps his arms around him from behind. Dirthamen arches into their touches, Selenes hand briefly brushing against his arousal before sliding around to give his buttocks a squeeze.

She smiles as she pulls away from Dirthamens flushed face, and shares an all too knowing look with Des. The two of them switch spots, and she whispers something into Dirthamens ear that Deceit can’t hear, but that makes his pupils dilate as he nods in agreement.

Selene hums again, and Des takes over keeping Dirthamen occupied, warm hands moving over cold skin and leaving a trail of pleasant goosebumps in their wake. Deceit can hear Selene shuffling through the closet, and the door opens as Fear walks in. Done with the clean up from the concert, he supposes.

Fear takes one look at the events in the room, at Deceit shaking the chain Des had attached to their armbands and looped through the bars on the headboard, and raises a judgmental eyebrow at Deceit.

Deceit knows.

They’ve warned him about the armbands before. Too flashy, too strappy, too easy to get caught on clothes and skin and anything really. He supposes he’ll have to concede their point, once they let him out.

Because he is expecting them to let him out.

But Selene just gives them a wave as she steps out of her clothes and carefully harnesses one of her favorite strap ons over her lingerie. Fear waves back, and takes their usual seat, one leg crossed over the other.

Traitor, Deceit thinks without any real conviction, settling back into the pillows and returning his attention to his preoccupied lovers.

Selene moves to stand behind Dirthamen again, nudging her phallus gently against him as she warms a handful of lube between her hands. Carefully, she begins to work him open with her fingers, Des laving attention over his front half, slipping a condom and cock ring onto their gasping lover.

Selene goes slow, gentle, patient, and Deceit thinks he might go mad with it. Left alone, unable to touch himself as his erection presses painfully against his leather pants, still wearing his damn belt, even. The sight of Dirthamen, red and relaxed into their lovers touches, eyes nearly closed in ecstasy as Selene carefully pushes into him, barely half an inch at a time.

Her own eyes shut, head laid down against his shoulder as she catches her breath from the vibrations being pressed against her now, gently rocking back and forth.

Once she seems to have found her rhythm, her arm curves around Dirthamens side, landing on Des’s shoulder and gently pushing him down.

Smirking like a cat who got the canary, Des eagerly follows her silent instructions and drops to his knees. His tongue licks a long stripe from base to tip on Dirthamens cock, and Deceit can feel his own jump in response as Dirthamen lets out a shocked moan. Des swallows him down then, moving in tandem with Selene. Swallowing him down as she pulls out, lips dragging along the shaft until they are just barely grazing the head when she pushes back in.

It doesn’t take long for Dirthamen to cry out, and Des reverses his movements, leaving Dirthamen filled and consumed, and then empty and exposed, repeating the pattern over and over until he is begging them to let him come.

They don’t.

Selene tightens her grip on his hips, whispering promises and loving words into his ear as her pace finally picks up, her other hand threaded through Des’s hair to keep him close until she presses entirely into him, body tensing in an all too telling way as she breathes out their names.

She rocks into him a few more times, coming down from the rush of her orgasm as Dirthamen pleads again. 

But she just releases Des, and pulls out, leaving a gentle kiss on his shoulder where her head had been, and where she seems to have left a too dark hickey in her thrall.

She discards the strap on into the tub, presumably to be washed when everything is finished, and Deceit can hear the sink running as she washes off her hands. Des ignores Dirthamens pleas, hands running comfortably over the dark stockings, lips kissing along the insides of his thighs before he stands. Rolling a condom over his own cock, nearly as purple as his nails by now, Des moves to take over where Selene had left off. Dirthamen lets out a cry as he is filled again, still relaxed from the previous encounter and letting Des in with ease.

Selene watches the events from the doorway of the bathroom for a few minutes.

Deceit shifts uncomfortably on the bed, still far too confined for his tastes.

She does eventually stride back towards him, even sits beside him on the bed as she plays with his hair. Like they were already in cuddle mode. Like his cock isn’t threatening to split the seams in his favorite pants. Like she doesn’t still smell like sex, naked and confident and only inches away.

“Selene…” He finally manages, making eye contact and with a bit more pleading in his voice than he meant to give away.

“Hm?” she replies, fingers still stroking over his scalp.

He frowns and tilts his hips towards her.

She snorts.

“Well….” She drawls, eyes dragging slowly down his body and back over to Des and Dirthamen. “I suppose you’ve learned your lesson…”

“You’re complaining about the tights then?”

“Oh no,” she says, smoothly tugging his belt off of him. “I thought we’d made it pretty clear we enjoyed them.”

“So you’re just torturing me for fun then?” Deceit teases.

Selene shrugs, carefully pulling off his pants and boxer briefs (though still leaving his hands tied he notes with frustration but no real anger) “I suppose I could find a way to thank you, instead.”

Deceit is about to send some sort of masterful quip back, but his mind empties quickly when she takes his erection fully into her mouth in one go. His back arches off the mattress at the sensation, hips reflexively pushing up and making her gag, just a little. 

Selene pulls back, head lifting to leave his cock twitching in the cold air as she readjusts, moving until she’s between his legs. She takes him down again, eyes closing as she swirls her tongue around his shaft, and he lets out a heavy moan, drawing the attentions of Des and Dirthamen.

Des raises an eyebrow at the scene, smiling again as he whispers some undoubtedly wicked idea into Dirthamens ear.

Dirthamen shivers in response to whatever it is, as Des carefully pulls out of him and removes both the condom and cock ring. Fear hands them a few wipes, and Deceits attention gets pulled back to Selenes own affections as she settles into a strong pace, hands stroking his thighs as she bobs between them.

When he reopens his eyes, he sees Dirthamen crawling onto the bed, positioning himself behind Selene, holding his painfully hard cock with a new condom on in his hands as he quietly asks her if she is ok. She hums her affirmation, and Deceit lets out a groan as the vibrations course over him, and she pushes her hips back towards Dirthamen. He lines himself up, but it is Des who thrusts him forward and into her as he re-enters Dirthamen himself.

The three of them let out a loud, unanimous moan that nearly undoes Deceit right there.

Dirthamen readjusts, one leg between Deceits and Selenes as Des pulls his back tight to his chest, and begins tweaking slightly at his over sensitized nipples, grinning at Deceit all the while.

He does come at that, (too quick, he thinks bitterly, but he’s got another round in him) and apologizes to Selene, who manages to swallow most of it down without too much trouble. He carefully twists out of her mouth, as Fear finally comes over to release his arms from their confines.

Deceit rubs tenderly at his forearms as blood rushes back into them, and the other three continue their motions over top him.

He grins though, finally free to interact himself as Fear returns to their seat. 

Deceit crawls forward, taking Selenes chin gently and just barely grazing his lips across her own. She moans, and Deceit helps her sit up, which shifts the angle at which Dirthamen is able to thrust into her. The three of them readjust slightly, and Deceit lets his hands roam over her body. Slick with sweat, muscles taut with the closeness of her next release. He slides his mouth down her neck, her collarbone, before settling over her breast and forcing a gasp from her.

She comes like that, arched into his mouth as she stills and cries out in climax. But just as she takes her breath, he lets one hand wander down to circle her clit, taking advantage of over sensitivity to send her straight into another orgasm. She drags Dirthamen with her this time, and Des follows not long after that, the three off them practically collapsing into a sweaty, tired heap on top of the sheets.

Deceit presses a kiss to each of their foreheads in turn, before standing to help Fear with towels and wipes. Once cleaned up, Selene groans and makes her way into the bathroom to brush her teeth (understandably) and the others redress to go downstairs and order dinner.

Deceit waits in the bedroom, though.

Selene re-emerges from the bathroom and blinks at him.

“Are you alright?” She asks, walking slowly towards him. “Was that too far?”

“Not at all,” Deceit grins, lifting her as she lets out a surprised squeak. He hooks her legs over his shoulders, pressing her up against the wall and holding her securely, face buried between her thighs. “In fact, I’m ready for round two.”

Dinner was already cold when they finally made it downstairs


	22. Chapter 22

They are out for a walk with Kel in her stroller, when Des stops dead in his tracks.

Well. He’s still _alive_ , but his attention has been fully arrested by two figures in an alley, and a familiar glowing blue substance in a Ziploc bag.

Selene notices it too, eyes narrowing.

“Des.” she calls.

He inhales sharply through his nose.

“Yes. Right.” he clears his throat, his usual easy grin returning to his face as he falls back into step and flips one of Kels toys dangling over her head and she lets out a loud giggle.

Selene lets out a breath of her own, grip loosening as color bleeds back into her knuckles. 

  
“Your new job is in a great neighborhood.” Des teases.

“It’s just temporary,” Selene insists. “I’m not technically an employee of theirs. I’m just doing some contract work for more money than I probably deserve.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Contract work means I have the right to say ’ _No’_ to anything they try to throw at me. And since they seem to want me there more than I want to be there, it gives me leverage as well.”

Des snickers.

“You really believe that?”

Selene lets out a sigh “No,” she admits “But if I phrase it the honest way of ‘they blackmailed me into working for them,’ Fear probably wouldn’t even be comfortable letting me in the same _zip code_ as June and Sylaise.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“…I _like_ working, Des. I like having something in my life that’s just mine. Something I can do outside of the house. The others have the band, and you have your job, and I’ve just been stuck taking care of the house and the chores.”

“And Kel.” Des points out.

“And Kel,” Selene agrees. “Who I love. But who is also only a few months old, and not a great source of conversation.”

Des still seems skeptical as they pass the still partially under construction skyscraper Selene has started working at.

“It’s only temporary.” She reminds him.

“You use that word so much, sometimes I wonder if you remember what it means.”

–

The strangest part of the job for Selene, is the dress code. She had interviewed in torn up jeans and a t-shirt, to indicate that she didn’t actually _want_ the job June had offered her. Sylaise hadn’t so much as batted an eye at it throughout the lunch, as she ensured Selenes wine glass stayed full and Selene resolutely tried to stick to her water instead. Somehow she had still managed to come out of it with a job, a signing bonus, and a list of official positions for her to choose from.

Technically, she works for June. She has no experience in legal, which makes her largely useless to Sylaise in any sort of professional capacity. But it doesn’t seem to matter, as Sylaise always manages to be around somehow whenever Selene steps into the office in the morning in her boots and her jeans and her comfortable sweaters. And each morning, Sylaise links her arm with Selenes and makes surprisingly pleasant conversation all the way up the elevator and into her office where there is a closet full of name brand suits and clothes and shoes spanning across the length of one wall.

Each time, Selene argues that she really doesn’t mind wearing her usual clothes, she _likes_ them, really.

But each evening sees her heading home in heels and a blouse and, when she can’t particularly find the strength to fight, a pencil skirt.

She is starting to accrue a collection of Armani because of it.

After the first week, her lovers have at least stopped pointing it out.

Mostly.

“Just to verify,” Fear drawls as they stir the pot of pasta, side-eyeing her as she enters “ _They_ are not changing your clothing, right?”

“There’s a changing room.” Selene assures them as she slips out of the purple heels Sylaise had insisted she keep.

Fear gives a quiet grunt of acknowledgment and returns their attention to dinner. Selene slips past them and up the stairs to change, carefully hanging up todays outfit and changing into a soft pair of pajama pants and a large shirt. She goes back downstairs, joining Deceit and Dirthamen and Kel for tummy time on her favorite playmat. There are halla running across it, as the background of the circular mat shifts from night to day, a field and flowers in the center.

“You are enjoying working for my sister?” Dirthamen asks quietly, glancing away from Kel while she focuses on flipping herself onto her back to watch the overhead mobile more easily.

“Technically, I work for June,” Selene evades “But it’s not nearly as bad as I expected it to be.”

Dirthamen gives a nod while Deceit pretends to not be listening in. “What precisely do you do for him?”

“Right now I’m just helping him get the skyscraper finished. He tends to get focused on details, and I try to keep him and his team focused on the bigger picture stuff. And I take a lot of notes on the process, so it can be replicated later without him having to stare over his construction teams shoulders.”

“Getting any good dirt on them?” Deceit finally asks.

Selene contemplates the various discussions she’s heard between June and Sylaise. They’ve been inviting her to join them for lunch, so there’s not really a lack of material to sift through, but they don’t seem to argue about much.

“They were having a pretty heated discussion last week about something one of Junes parents said? I think they already moved past it though.”

Deceit lets out a disappointed huff at the lack of gossip, and goes back to playing with Kel.

Dinner is ready not long after that, and the next few days pass in a similar rhythm.

On Friday though, Selene spies something strange out of one of the windows; Des, walking alone down the street.

Towards the alley they had passed together.

“I’m taking my lunch,” Selene says, hurriedly dropping her notes onto the nearest solid surface and leaving a blinking June mid-sentence behind her. She races down the stairway and out the front doors, slowing as she approaches the alleyway.

Two voices are speaking.

One of them is nauseatingly familiar.

She turns the corner, blocking the exit onto the main street, and feels the flames licking beneath her skin again.

“What are you _doing_.” She accuses. Her voice is rough, and deep, and she is so _angry_ as she sees Des with a wad of cash in his hand, only a step away from one of the men they had passed before.

He swallows, frozen as he spots her.

“I…” He starts, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

The other man takes a step away from Des, slowly putting his hands up beside his head.

Selenes eyes dart to him and narrow.

“ _Run_.” she hisses.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. The other man makes a speedy exit past her and back out to the main streets. Leaving her alone in the alley.

With Des.

Des, who she thought had been doing so _well_. Des, who shared their bed just last night. Des, who is helping to _raise a child_.

“What are you _**doing**_.” She repeats, voice low and dangerous.

“It’s not-It’s not what it looks like-”

“Really? Because it _looks like_ you were trying to buy lyrium from a stranger we passed on the street. Or maybe he wasn’t a stranger? How long have you been using again, Des?”

“Fuck, Selene, it’s not-I wasn’t going to _use_ it!”

“No?”

“No!”

“Then what _were_ you going to do?”

“I just-I just wanted to have it! Just-just to keep it around. For emergencies. There’s no harm in that.”

“And what about the other _mages_ we live with, Des? What if Kel grows up to be a mage, and you’ve got lyrium stashed in your room and she hears it calling and-and-and-”

“I wouldn’t do that to her!” he roars.

Selene gestures at their environment, at the alley and the rolled up money sitting in his hand.

Des swallows at that, as guilt seems to rush over him. “I didn’t…I wouldn’t…” he sighs “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it, and I’ll try to.”

“I need it, Selene!” He finally yells, shaking with the admission of it. “I need the rush I _need…_ I need the power! You’ve no _idea_ what it’s like!”

“You don’t need it, Des.” She responds, quietly.

“How would you know! You’re never even _home_ anymore! Moving on without me again and ju-”

“ **No**.” Selene interrupts. “No, Des _no_ -”

“Playing games with Dirthamens _asshole_ family while they play dress up-”

“ _How dare you-_ ”

“-And you pretend like you’re not _just as broken and rejected as I am-!”_

Selene explodes.

Literally.

The alley fills with fire and heat as Selene screams, walking towards Des. “You can’t blame me for this! I didn’t push you to lyrium! I gave up everything to keep you safe! Everything I _loved_ , _everything I had worked for, and you have the nerve to_ _ **blame me**_ _for this_? _! You_ _ **ungrateful**_ _-”_

Selene pauses, as the words coming out of her mouth finally register. The flames dissipate, and her hands swiftly move to cover her mouth.

_**'Ungrateful.’** _

How many times had her father thrown that in her face? And now she’s….Des…

She wraps her arms around him, pulls him close while he shakes. Scared of her. Scared that she might be leaving him, that she’s finally done with him.

She had been only a breath away from saying exactly that.

“Des…” She whispers into his hair. “Des, I didn’t mean…”

“You did.” He interrupts.

Selene swallows.

“You should go home,” She says instead. “Fear’s home today, right? Talk to them about this. Deceit and Dirthamen too. We all love you, Des. We love you _so_ much. I’m so sorry I reacted the way I did.”

“…you’re going back to work.”

Selene lets out a breath. “…I think you and I need a little space. Just temporarily. Until we’re both cooled off a bit.”

Des nods slowly into her shoulder before peeling away, wiping away his tears and smudging his eyeliner.

“…I’m sorry, too.”

Selene gives a soft smile, and gives him a brief kiss. “I forgive you. Make sure you call your sponsor about this though, ok? And go straight home? Promise me?”

“I promise.” Des agrees, hands cupping her jaw and pulling her close for a deeper kiss.

Selene walks him out of the alley, watching as he heads back to their home.

She sends a text to Fear, and asks them to send her one once Des is home.

Just in case.

–

Selene slogs her way into the elevator, feeling exhausted after having her magic loosed so unintentionally. She’s already nodding off by the time the doors ding open, and she has to straighten herself up to go back to work.

“…Go for barbecue?” June quips.

Selene blinks.

“What?”

He indicates towards her clothes, which have become soiled with eyeliner and dirt and predominantly ash and the associated smell.

“Oh. Uh…Something like that.”

He tilts his head back towards the elevator. “Go see Sylaise. She’ll get you changed and send those off for cleaning.”

“Right,” Selene nods, following his instructions, still more than a little dazed.

Sylaise tuts, and dismisses Tasallir when Selene steps out onto her floor. She hands over another change of clothes once Selene has sufficiently washed up. Selenes phone vibrates while she’s changing; Fear letting her know Des made it home.

She lets out a breath of relief, and feels a bit more weight fall off of her shoulders as she lets out a long yawn.

“Are you alright in there dear?” Calls Sylaise through the door.

“Yes, sorry,” Selene calls back, fiddling with the zipper. She steps out again, and Sylaise has her spin before stepping forward.

“You should keep this dress,” Sylaise hums as she gently moves Selenes hair to the side and pulls the zipper up her back. “It suits you.”

Selene nods, and gives her thanks before letting out another long yawn and an apology.

“Would you like some coffee?” Sylaise offers.

“That would be great actually,” Selene says “Thank you.”

Sylaise directs Selene to sit on one of her couches and instructs someone to brew up a fresh pot in the hallway. The couch is surprisingly plush, and soft, and Selene is tired enough that she lets out yet another yawn as her body cries out for her to lay down on it.

“Is there something bothering you?” Sylaise asks as she comes back into the office. “You can always talk to me, you know.”

Selene nods, but doesn’t say anything. She knows better. Sylaise seems sweet, and so far she’s certainly better than Falon'din in Selenes eyes, but she’s always got a motive. Selene’s not sure what it is yet, and that makes her dangerous.

“Troubles at home?” Sylaise guesses. 

Selene shakes her head and then shrugs. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“I always worry about you Selene,” She coos. “You’re not like Dirthamens other…partners.”

Selene raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Sylaise says “There’s a rather recurring theme with them, isn’t there? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. And then there’s _you_. With your legs and your sweaters and your soft quirks hiding under sharp features. You said you used to be a teacher. What on _earth_ would convince you to take up with a group like that?”

“I love them.” Selene asserts.

“Well yes of course,” Sylaise agrees while making a dismissive gesture. “Of course you do, Dirthamen is very lovable with his sort of…baby bird who has fallen out of the nest and forgotten how to fly…. _personality_ , lets call it. He’s the only member of the family besides myself that’s any use at all, really. And I’m sure he’s great fun and very reliable and stable, but surely you can’t expect that to _last_.”

Someone comes in then, with two cups of coffee. They place them carefully on the table between the two women, who stay silent but maintain eye contact, and step back out of the room.

“Dirthamen loves me,” Selene assures her. “And I love _him_. And Deceit, and Fear, and Des. We all love each other.”

“And no one is disputing that,” Sylaise nods. “I only mean that…well, Dirthamen tends to get obsessed with things for a long while, and then once his curiosities are satisfied he just abandons them and moves on to the next thing. Like, Falon'din. They were _inseparable_ when I was younger. Some people used to joke that Dirthamen was practically his shadow. But then one day, he just abandons him. He found Fear and Deceit and now…well, you saw how they get on now.”

Selene takes a long sip of her coffee, and tries to settle her nerves. She doesn’t have the strength right now to erupt again, at least.

“Falon'din stranded Dirthamen in the woods,” Selene says slowly. “Falon'din _struck_ Dirthamen. Dirthamen didn’t get _bored_ , he found the strength to leave an abusive relationship.”

“And your little display in the alley, that wasn’t a piece of an abusive relationship?”

Selene freezes.

Sylaise glances up at her, mouth turning into a grin around the lip of her mug.

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about the fireworks. I suppose that means you likely started the fire at fathers house too? That explains why he couldn’t put it out then. It puts some questionable rumors in your background to rest, too.”

Selene stays silent.

“Seems you’re still quite the little firebug. No judgment on my end, that just means father will like you all the more. _And_ now you’ve got the baby. Seems like whoever has a hold of you, would have him wrapped around their finger for the next…oh, twelve years or so?”

Selene lets out a breath.

“She’s not my baby.”

“But with my team, she could be. Easily.”

Selene shakes her head “What are you even trying to do here?”

“You’re going to leave my brother,” Sylaise explains. “If he has an actual child and I don’t, father won’t care about my false promises to have one _some_ day. But when you join June and I, that will give us a baby already. No more pressure, not for a while at least.”

Selene laughs. “I’m not _leaving_ your brother to make you your fathers favorite again. What are you even _on_?”

Selene goes to stand, to tell June she quits because his wife is _insane_ and to go back home to help Fear with Des, but finds her legs won’t respond.

She blinks, and looks down at her legs. Her head swims at the motion, and she practically falls over onto the couch from the dizziness.

“ _I’m_ not on anything,” Sylaise assures her as she places her coffee mug down on the table. “ _You_ , however, are currently suffering from a mix of rohypnol and diazepam. The coffee was decaf too, so you never really had a chance there.”

Sylaise stands, and pulls a blanket out of the closet, draping it over Selene. “Don’t worry dear. You’ll be well cared for here. We’ll make it worth your while. You’ll see, this will all work out for the best for everyone.”

Selene does her best to glare at Sylaise through drooping eyelids, tries to spit a curse at her, to pull on her magic, but her muscles are feeling so _relaxed_ and she is so _tired_ that it is hardly even noticeable.

Sylaise tuts, and brushes a strand of hair out of Selenes face.

“I know my dear; you loved them. But you were always replaceable in their eyes, anyways. It was just a temporary thing.”

The world turns black, and silent. 

Selene doesn’t dream.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be confused-the plot from the end of last chapter just never quite got resolved in fic (sorry!). So we're moving forward

The first text arrives while Selene is filling out her answer key.

_– >If I were a function you would be my asymptote- I always tend towards you._

It pulls a snort out of her as she stares down at her phone.

_< – I think you’d be the asymptote in this relationship. A line stretching towards but never meeting the curve? Sounds like your ideal night._

Selene smirks down at her phone before returning to her work. It’s several more minutes before her phone goes off again.

–> _Your beauty cannot be spanned by a finite basis of vectors._

Nails tapping against the keyboard, Selene contemplates the possible events that might have led to Dirthamen sending her mathematically themed pick up lines.

It doesn’t take long for her to arrive at the most likely option.

_< –Des is that you?_

A pause.

_– >No._

_< –Prove it._

Another minute passes, and her phone vibrates with a photo message; Dirthamen, at his desk, with a book open.

A colorful, large print book.

Aha.

_< –What’re you reading?_

_– > A gift from one of our paramours._

<– _Is it the paramour that causes the most trouble and often enjoys playing pranks?_

_– >I think Deceit would be offended you do not consider him to be the most prankish._

_< –…Fair._

_< –So it was from Des then?_

Another pause, longer this time.

–> _I wish I was your derivative so I cold lie tangent to your curves._

_< –Are you sexting me at work? This is very exciting._

_– >I do not know if that would be wise. I have a meeting to attend soon._

Selene bites her lips as a variety of possibilities run through her mind.

_< –So I shouldn’t be touching myself then?_

The longest pause yet. She wonders if perhaps she pushed too far too quickly, and wanders out of her room for a glass of water. Already too distracted to finish her work right now.

_– > I suppose since you do not have meetings, that would not be inappropriate._

_< – What if I’m touching myself while thinking about you touching yourself? Would that be inappropriate?_

_– > That would depend on the context._

Selene takes a long sip from the plastic cup and leans back into the kitchen counter.

_< – You, stuck in a meeting and trying not to touch yourself despite the ache growing in your lap. Dismissing yourself before it is over because your focus is pulled too far to what you could be doing instead. Or who, depending. Locking the door to your office and closing the blinds for privacy before finally exposing your cock to the too cold air conditioning in your building. Remembering that time Deceit snuck me past security and I hid beneath your desk, and wishing my mouth was there to help you again, because your hand just isn’t quite as warm._

–> _That does indeed sound inappropriate._

<– _Maybe that’s why it makes me so wet to picture it. You, hard and erect in your fist, head thrown back in that god awful chair you refuse to replace._

–> _The lumbar support is the best currently available._

<– _Maybe. But that material is still coarse, and as your skin continues to heat and your hand keeps moving it’ll only become more noticeable. It might even keep you from being able to come yourself. Each time you come close to that precipice a bit of it scratches against the back of your ear, or your neck and jolts you back. Leaving you hard, and wanting, and aching alone in your office._

–> _Perhaps that is for the best. I am unsure what I would even use to clean up._

_< –It would hardly be the first time you mis-used your tie._

Another pause.

–> _I need to go to the meeting._

Selene smirks and makes her way back to the bedroom, kicking off her pants and sliding two fingers into the front of her flower patterned underwear, hips arched up as she snaps a picture.

She sends it off with a pick up line of her own.

<– _If I was your meeting, would you do me on your desk?_

There is a long stretch of silence then, and she supposes he really _is_ at his meeting. 

Which is probably super important, or sensitive, or something.

A half hour later, her text alert pings again.

_– > It seems I am at the whim of inappropriateness today. I am heading to the car now._

Selene grins, and starts saving her work.

<– _Bring the book._


	24. Short Drabbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few short drabbles that just didn't feel long enough to count as chapters here

Selene does not remember much about her mother.

She knows the name, the stories, the way her father still smiled when she was around. But when she tries to think of the way she looked, the color of her eyes, the expressions she would make, she can not see them. All she can recall is the way the sunlight used to shine on her, bright through her short wisps of pale hair and casting her mothers looming height in shadow and golden highlights.

But she remembers the lullabies.

Kel has been ill all day, fussing and crying and waking herself each time she manages to fall asleep.

The others have left for the evening already, for a performance they had promised months ago (although Fear still worried they should have canceled all the way out the door).

She has tried warming the formula. She has tried Kels favorite toys, and movies, and mobiles.

It has been years since she heard the tune.

Still, softly as she rocks her daughter in her arms, Selene begins to sing. Old words, as the melody becomes more familiar. A song about dreaming, and journeys, and home.

Kels eyes begin to droop, as her sniffles fall farther and farther apart.

Selene eases her into her crib, finishing off the song as she does.

_Ara ma'athlan vhenas._

I will call you home.

* * *

Taking things seriously has never been Des’s forte.

There’s just no _point_ , right? Whether you’re ‘good’ by societies standards or not, everyone’s gonna die someday. Why should he stress himself out over numbers or spreadsheets or whether he’s a little late for work sometimes. He’s got a limited amount of time to live, and he wants to make the most of it.

Which is apparently not the best attitude to have when your boss calls you into their office.

“Des,” they sigh “This is the fourth time this month you’ve been late.”

“By like, fifteen minutes,” he shrugs. “it’s not like I was clocked in. You only pay me while I’m here.”

“Yes, but we expect you to be here at a certain time. For those ten minutes, we are understaffed.”

Des raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Gods forbid,” he drawls. He’s pretty certain the company won’t go under because for ten minutes they don’t have the _exact_ number of phones dialing little old ladies to sell them their romance novel subscriptions.

Not that Des begrudges the little old ladies. Most of them are pretty pleasant to talk to when they aren’t complaining about getting doubles.

“You need to take this job seriously.” his boss tells him.

Des snorts. “ _Why_?”

“Because if you don’t, you won’t have a job anymore.” They warn.

Des considers the options.

If he doesn’t have a job, he won’t have to get up so early. Won’t have to worry about professional dress codes, or uncomfortable shoes. Won’t have to worry about meetings running late and forcing him to miss the bus home. He could just stay home with Selene, and Kel, and all the others when they’re around. They certainly have enough money that what he’s making here is barely a drop in the bucket, anyways.

It’s a pretty easy decision, really.

“Alright,” Des shrugs flippantly. “Do you need two weeks or can I just head on home then?”

* * *

SEL: _slumped over Des’s lap with an empty strawberry wine cooler in her hand_ “Ok but lis-listen-shhhhhhhhh- _l I ST EN”_

dES: “I’m listening but you-youre not _talkin_ selene you have to _talk_ if you want me to _listen_ or else its jus-just silence _.”_

Sel: “Ok ok. Ok, so there’s this-like this THING right? And it’s like…it’s like this thing this person thought up right? And its like…*makes that explosion motion with her hands by her head*”

Des: “That’s _awesome_. How did you get your hair this color? I’m-i’m gonna dye _my_ hair this color, it’s wonderful.”

Selene: “Nooooooo don’t bleach your hair, your hair’s so silky and smooth and pretty Des don’t ruin it. How bout-how about I dye _my_ hair and we’ll like….we’ll do a weird color and like…meet in the middle. Wait…wait would that just be grey?”

Des: *like hes about to burst into tears* _“I’m too young for grey hair Selene”_

 _Selene: *yelling*_ “FEEEEEAAAAR….WHA-WHAT COLOR IS IN BETWEEN WHITE AND BLACK BUT ISN’T GREY?”

Fear: “The color of being sober jfc you two.”

* * *

“I’ll get a new door,” Selene assures them.

She, at least, has the good grace to look embarrassed about the whole thing. Des, on the other hand, merely huffs unrepentantly from his place on the couch. According to Dirthamen’s summation of the incident, there was ‘a disagreement’ and Des ‘became sassy’, and attempted to lock himself into the bathroom to avoid further confrontation.

Selene disagreed with this move, and the bathroom door paid the price.

According to _Deceit’s_ summation of the incident, Des had ‘screamed like a little girl’ and tried to escape out of the window, before Selene caught him and got him into a headlock, and finally extracted the apology and agreement she had been looking for.

Deceit still seems entirely amused about the whole thing.

Fear cannot help but wonder how Des and Selene managed to live together for _years_ without actually just murdering one another. Probably Selene’s overriding distaste for violence is at least a partial explanation.

“I will replace the door,” Fear decides.

“I can buy a door,” Selene insists, folding her arms, and still looking faintly embarrassed.

“You can clean up the splinters,” Fear counters. “I want to make certain the new door is able to withstand… disagreements.” Though, they think, not in the most obvious way. They can hardly get a bathroom door that is impervious to assault; what if someone slipped and fell in the shower while the lock was engaged and emergency services needed to get to them?

No.

Fear is going to get a bathroom door that _doesn’t lock._ That seems the wiser course of action. 

“At least let me pay for it,” Selene counters. “Or Des. Des can pay for it.”

“I wasn’t the one who broke down the door!” Des protests, but blanches a bit at the look Selene gives him.

“What were you arguing about in the first place?” Fear wonders, diverting the subject. They will pay for the door. They have a hazard budget. Intended more for fires, but it will serve here, too. The distraction works somewhat, as Selene clears her throat, and she and Des both shuffle like a pair of awkward teenagers confronted with the bottle of vodka they stole from their parents’ cabinet.

“I should get a bag to put these splinters in,” Selene decides.

“I’ll order dinner,” Des replies.

Fear raises an eyebrow, and watches them both hurry from the room.

“I’ll buy the door, then,” they conclude, and pull up their phone to see which hardware stores are still open in the area.


	25. Chapter 25

It is a weekend not long into their new dating dynamic, when Des rings Dirthamen up at the apartment.

“Hey, this is a booty call!” Des says, which is confusing because it takes Dirthamen a moment to recognize his voice through the intercom. For an awkward half a moment he finds himself thinking `I did not order a booty` and wondering if this person hit the wrong number. “Anyone up there interested in fooling around?”

Dirthamen takes a moment, both to register the voice and deduce who it is, and then again to consider the proposition. Fear and Deceit are both out, so he does not have to confer with them. They are doing an interview, which Dirthamen himself politely declined in deference to his family’s wishes for a minimum of such things, and will be gone for at least another hour.

Unless things go disastrously wrong and they storm out. But that is not a likely eventuality.

“Hellooo?” Des calls, and he realizes he has possibly been silent for too long.

“Fear and Deceit are out,” he says. “But I would not object to ‘fooling around’ with you.”

“Score! Buzz me up,” Des requests.

Dirthamen does, and then goes and unlocks the apartment door as well. That is against Fear’s guidelines, to unlock the door before he has verified his guest`s identity. But sometimes, when Fear is not around, Dirthamen does not bother with all of their precautions. He is fairly certain, now, that this is Des, and Des is permitted to visit. So is Selene, though she has not yet come by of her own volition.

It does not Des very long at all to make it up to the apartment. Faster than the elevator typically moves. Dirthamen lets him in, and locks the door behind him again, and has not even started to fully turn towards the other man before he feels hands on himself. Des pushes him up against the wall near the entryway, untucking Dirthamen’s button-down shirt and pressing an insistent kiss to his lips.

Des is not shy about sex.

Dirthamen takes a moment to contemplate whether or not he minds, and decides that he does not. He settles his arms around the other man’s shoulders and returns his kiss, somewhat more sedately, but with interest. Des slants his mouth and buries his fingers in Dirthamen’s hair, pressing flush to him in unabashed thirst for more kisses. When he finally pulls back, Dirthamen’s mouth is tingling, and Des’ lips are flushed; and so are his cheeks, for that matter.

“Hello,” Dirthamen says, politely, when he has the breath for it.

“Hi,” Des replies, leaning in so that their lips are almost pressed together again. “Fuck me,” he suggests. Or requests, perhaps.

…He can do that, he thinks. Probably. They will have to use some of the things in Fear’s emergency supply cupboard (the one for sex, not the one for injuries), but then, that is why it is stocked, really.

Assuming Des means that he would like penetrative sex, of course. Dirthamen is not entirely certain. Terminology can be ambiguous.

“How would you like to be fucked?” he checks.

Des laughs, and kisses him again instead of answering. They can probably just keep doing this for a while, too, Dirthamen does not mind. Though eventually the wall is going to become uncomfortable. Not immediately, though, and Des’ hands and mouth are providing ample distraction, enough so that Dirthamen is beginning to feel somehow underprepared for this encounter. At least until Des pulls back again, and takes him determinedly by the arm instead.

“I really, _really_ just want to get very, very fucked right now. Pinned to a mattress or riding hard or bent over a coffee table, I don’t care just so long as it’s _fucking_ ,” he says, with a grin. “You know?”

Does he know?

…Possibly? He is not certain he has ever quite managed to feel the desire with an intensity that would bring him across town solely to solicit it, but then again, not everyone is as inclined to simply sit back and appreciate their urges in and of themselves. Des is very action-prone. It makes sense that his reactions to the same impulses would be different.

Dirthamen nods in confirmation, and then gives the coffee table a dubious look. It is a fashionable piece, but unlikely to stand up to rigorous pressures.

“The bedroom, then?” he suggests. “I should get some things…”

Des reaches into his pocket, and pulls out his wallet. From the wallet, he removes a packet of condoms.

Helpful, Dirthamen thinks, but also insufficient. He heads determinedly for the second bathroom, and the emergency supply cupboard next to the medicine cabinet. Des follows, or rather, leans against him and persistently kisses his neck and tugs at his shirt, and undoes several buttons in the process.

“Why do you have so many _buttons?”_ he complains.

“Professionalism,” Dirthamen explains.

Des huffs.

“But you’re home alone,” he protests. This is a familiar complaint, Deceit is similarly baffled by Dirthamen and Fear’s tendency to wear clothes often.

“I had a meeting this morning.”

“How long ago? Because let me tell you when I get home there is no _chance_ of keeping my work clothes on me,” Des says. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty overdressed myself right now…”

Des is only in a t-shirt and jeans, Dirthamen thinks, and so the concept that this qualifies as ‘over-dressed’ seems more than a little absurd. Before he can reply, however, Des has taken off his shirt, leaving him only in the jeans. His chest is very nice. And his waist, the skin there is softer than it looks. Dirthamen reminds himself to focus, and finds what they need, before Des can pull him insistently back out of the bathroom again.

They lose more clothes on the way to the bedroom. Dirthamen’s shirt is unbuttoned and his belt is removed with a flourish. Des steps out of his own pants, and Dirthamen is honestly a little surprised to see that he is wearing underwear. That was not the case, last time. But perhaps it is a variable standard. Possibly dependent on laundry days, or similar.

He discards his shirt at last, and pauses to pull off his socks. Des nearly unbalances him in an effort to steal more kisses.

“I am not very fast,” Dirthamen says, apologetically.

Des blinks at him.

“Oh, I’m not rushing you,” he replies. “Or, I don’t mean to. I just really like touching you.”

Ah.

Well, that is alright, then.

Communication is important in bedroom environments. So is reassurance, and compliments can often be invaluable, too. So Dirthamen recalls, as the two of them become a tangle of limbs on the bed. Tugging at the remaining clothes, and rolling around as Des cannot seem to decide which position he likes best, while Dirthamen finds all of them to be quite sufficient.

Partway through kissing his neck, Des pauses, and leans back.

“I’m not bowling you over, am I?” he checks.

Dirthamen shakes his head. And then, recollecting the thought that had occurred to him before, he takes a moment to frame Des’ face with his hands. Leaning in, he kisses the other man more slowly and deliberately.

“I like you,” he says.

Des snorts.

But he blushes, too.

“Good to know,” he replies, and they return to more fervent pursuits.


	26. Chapter 26

“I might have had a few shots,” Des admits with a grin, wobbling slightly on his feet even as he leans against the wall. “S'that bad?”

“No,” Fear supplies, easily side stepping their husband. “Kel is at a sleepover. So long as you aren’t driving anywhere, it’s no business of mine whether or not you have alcohol poisoning.”

Des lets out a loud sigh, nearly slumping on top of Fear before thinking better of it and instead sliding down the wall. “I’m not-I’m not gonna get _poisoned_. All the shit I’ve put in my body, an-and you think _vodka_ will be the end of me? Give me a little credit here vhenan.”

Fear lets out a long suffering sigh, glancing at the line of shot glasses on the counter. “Moderation is the key to longevity, Des,” they shoot back. The house is still clean, and he’s still wearing all of his clothing, so he hasn’t been drinking _long_ , they suppose.

Still.

Drinking alone is unusual for him.

“What prompted you to decimate our vodka reserve?” They ask.

“Shhhh,” Des says, putting a single finger up to their lips. “M'no-not s'possed to say.”

Troublesome.

“You can tell me,” Fear soothes, taking a small step towards him. Not enough that he could close the gap between them before Fear could step back again, but enough to give an illusion of physical closeness at least.

“ _Specially_ can’t tell you,” Des slurs back. “You’re gonna be the worst about it!” he giggles.

“The worst about what?” Fear pushes.

“M'drinking for two!” Des giggles again, more loudly. “Since Selene can’t for a while.”

Fear feels a niggling sense of panic deep in their gut, fighting the urge to send out a group text already; just in case. “Why can’t Selene drink?”

“ _Shhhhhhh_ ,” Des repeats.

Fear considers their options, and rephrases their question.

“How long will it be until Selene can drink again?”

“Abooooout….nine months?” Des grins.

Their fingers itch, as Fear goes through a mental list of trustworthy doctors in the area they could use to handle the situation.

“Where is she?”

“In her rooooom,” Des croons. “looking up some thing her mamae had, some…compli-mi-cation or something. I keep telling her, her heart is _fine,_ better n'fine, but we all know she never listens to _me-”_

Fear doesn’t catch the rest of Des’s sentence, already up the stairs and knocking on Selenes door. There’s the sound of a laptop closing and objects being shuffled around before she opens the door, hair frazzled and eyes puffy.

“Hi Fear,” She greets with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “What’s up?”

“You’re pregnant.” They respond flatly. Tact would have probably been kinder, but there is a lot to prepare for now, if they are right.

Selene’s face goes through a variety of expressions, and they wonder if perhaps she will deny it. Sentences start and end, unintelligible words falling from her lips before she finally drags her hand down her face.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Yes, that seems like the correct response, they think.

But murder will have to wait until after they have scheduled a doctors appointment for confirmation.


	27. Chapter 27

Fear is not freaking out.

That is an unkind stereotype about them. They are not ‘prone to overreacting’. They are just… very good at anticipating negative scenarios, and coming up with suitable contingency plans for them.

Selene had made them promise not to tell anyone else until after her doctor’s appointment to confirm things. That had been easy enough to agree to. They will need to know, long-term, if it turns out her suspicions are correct… but knowing her, Fear does not think Selene would have told Des unless she was about as certain as she could be. And they do not think the doctor will refute her own assessment, either.

They drive Selene to the emergency appointment that they schedule, with their own physician. The two of them drop Kel off at school, first, and use an intention to go shopping as a plausible cover for their subsequent delay. Dirthamen and Deceit are composing today. Fear is already making plans to cancel their next tour, however. The drive to Kel’s school is peaceful enough, at least. Kel sings along with the radio, while Fear drives at a reasonable speed, and Selene stares out the window at the passing signs.

She has her usual smile for Kel when they stop in front of the school, and drop her off. Their daughter gets her goodbye kiss, and skips off to class with her princess-themed knapsack swaying behind her. Fear frowns, a little. They will have to check the straps on it, they might be too loose.

Or possibly Kel stuffed it full of too many things again, and the weight is off. She is going to have back problems if that goes on for too long. They might need to have another talk about how much ‘show and tell’ she should take with her to class on any given day, and whether or not it is actually required for her to have her entire collection of tiny tradeable dragon toys on her person at all times. Kel is adamant that the answer is ‘yes’, but Fear disagrees.

The other adults are generally useless. They think it is ‘too cute’ to interfere most of the time.

When they are pulling out from the school, though, Selene lets out a long breath, and rests her head fully against the glass of the window.

Fear lets the silence persist for a long while. Considering things.

“If you wished to terminate… I would not think badly of you,” they finally offer.

Selene looks a little startled at the sound of their voice. Too deep in thought, they think. She forgot the world around her again.

They clear their throat, and wonder if this is the right tactic to take. Sensitivity is more Deceit’s purview. And Dirthamen’s, though he denies it. Des is often a bull in a china shop when it comes to tact. Selene herself is generally much better. But Fear knows they can take the wrong approach, at times. Looking towards consequences can sometimes mean skipping over important moments. And panic – not that they are panicking – can lead to hasty over-reactions, and fixating on the wrong aspects of an issue.

Fear could never become unexpectedly pregnant. There is a part of them – a tiny, mean little part – that is jealous.

It is much smaller than the part of them that is excited.

And both of them are nothing compared to the part that is worried, and they feel like Dirthamen often does, for a moment. Wondering if any of that is even remotely appropriate. Wondering what Selene must be thinking, and feeling. But this time, they have no idea. She has been very quiet ever since Des got drunk and let on too much.

Des, who is probably still sleeping off the vodka, and who had panicked and gone to hide in Deceit’s room the minute he spotted Selene.

But, the topic has been approached.

“I am pro-choice,” Fear elaborates, carefully. “Whatever you wish to do about this, I will help you handle things in the manner that is most safe and secure.”

Selene folds her arms around herself, and lets out a long breath.

“…I know you will,” she says.

It is a simple sentiment. Oddly reassuring, though Fear does not think _they_ are the one in need of reassurances right now, and they were not angling to receive them. Selene can sometimes tell, though. When they are not-panicking. They might credit it to a romantic notion, except that it is far more likely that she has picked up on the signs that they have medicated themselves in an effort to maintain calm.

Fear focuses back on the road, and lets the sentiments in the car stand as they will, as they drive the rest of the way to the appointment.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief flashback to the first night Des and Selene slept together.

## “You don’t have to stay.”

He mumbles it into the back of her neck, even as his arms tighten around her middle, his own conflicts coming to light as the sun drifts through their closed shutters.

Selene lets out a soft sigh, shifting until she is facing him. She places a light ‘boop’ on his nose in lieu of an actual response.

Des’s face scrunches up, his forehead gently bumping into hers. “M'just saying. Usually you’re making breakfast for my bedmates and finding them a bus route by now. You’re not like…” he makes a vague sort of grunting noise “You’re not obligated to stay. If you don’t want to.”

“What if I _do_ want to?” She mumbles back. “Are you going to kick me out of bed?”

“Never.” Des grins.

“Good.” Selene grins back, twining her legs through his.

It’s comfortable, then. The two of them, alone in their bed with only the sound of their breaths and the cars passing by outside. Des’s long fingers carefully stroke up and down Selenes back, soft and gentle over the scratch marks he left the night before. Too hurried, too concerned one of them might chicken out, might change their mind in the middle and everything would stop. And he _would_ have stopped, of course, if she had asked him to. But she hadn’t, she’d been just as swept up in the moment as he had been; pressing each other into walls and furniture, clothing articles being torn and thrown without care, fighting until it wasn’t fighting anymore. War turned to love, old arguments washed away in moans and whispered apologies and oaths sworn into skin through gritted teeth and bites hard enough to leave a reminder in the morning light that it wasn’t just a dream.

Different, somehow, from his usual encounters.

In a good way though. Old wounds healed by his healer; still _her_ even when she’s trying so desperately not to be.

“Where do we go from here?” He wonders aloud. 

Will this become a regular part of their routine? Is he supposed to stop seeing other people? Will this change what they’ve had together for so long?

“Well,” Selene says, rolling away from him and stretching her arms up over her head. “Breakfast sounds like a good start to me. Or coffee. Or maybe clothes first, if you wanna go out to eat.”

Des snorts, pulling her back to him quickly enough that she lets out an undignified squeak.

“Breakfast sounds great,” he sighs, face nuzzling into the sensitive dip in her hip he discovered the night before, enjoying the way she melts now as surely as she had the night before. “But…could we stay here a little longer first?”

Selene agrees, fingers threading through his hair in a pleasantly reassuring manner as she settles back into their bed.

 _Maybe_ , _just maybe_ , he thinks, _I won’t screw this up too_.


	29. Chapter 29

Selene has not been feeling well the past few days.

She has attempted to deny it. The first day, when Fear noted the unusual flush to her cheeks, she waved off concerns with assurances that she had simply over-heated herself. Des had made an inappropriate comment, and Dirthamen had been forced to remind him that they were endeavouring to mind their language more around Kel, who is getting old enough to repeat words.

Babies are known for carrying a lot of germs. It is a necessary part of the development of their immune system, but it also means that the adults around them tend to catch colds and other illnesses much more frequently, too.

The second day, Selene’s throat had sounded scratchy, and she had been tired enough to let Deceit order out rather than attempt to make dinner herself. It was her turn, and usually she was quite happy to cook.

Dirthamen had been suspicious.

The third day confirmed his suspicions, as Selene slept in, and had a red nose and watery eyes all through breakfast. Fear had given her medication, and she had only offered a token protest before accepting it. They all had work, save for Des, who had assured them that he would look after Kel and Selene both during the day.

And now Des is ill – though he has not taken to it with Selene’s denials and protests, but rather, according to Fear, seems dedicated to ‘spreading the germs’, as he latches onto anyone who holds still long enough. Kel herself has not actually shown signs of illness yet. Fear has secured her in their own room for the evening, to try and ensure that remains true, and half an hour ago Deceit had disappeared into Des’ room, along with Des himself and a steaming mug of lemon honey tea.

Which just leaves Dirthamen, and Selene.

Selene has been attempting to watch television, bleary-eyed and obviously miserable. Even on ordinary days, she tends to run hot. But this illness comes with a fever, and Dirthamen has been examining her carefully, and he is fairly certain that she is badly over-heated.

He goes into the kitchen, and retrieves a cooling pad from one of the bottom cupboards, and pours a glass of lemon water rather than making tea.

When he settles onto the couch next to Selene, she makes a vague sound of protest.

“You’re going to catch it,” she says.

“Most likely,” Dirthamen agrees. “It is probable that I already have caught it, and either my immune system has taken care of it, or I will begin showing symptoms within the next several days. That is one of the hazards of a shared living space.” Most viruses are highly contagious _well_ before they begin to show symptoms, after all.

Selene sighs.

“Still,” she protests. But she does not actually elaborate on her point. Dirthamen is not certain she even has a point, so much as a vague sentiment towards his health. Which is nice. He appreciates that she does not want him to suffer or be incapacitated.

She does not protest when he moves closer, though, and he is glad for that, too.

“What are you watching?” he inquires, as he settles the cooling pad against the back of her neck. It is magically charged. The best kind, in his opinion, as it permits him to easily maintain and control its temperature. Though it does also require supervision during use, to make certain there are no negative interactions of magical energies.

Selene sighs tremendously, and tilts her head back.

“Oh,” she says. “I think I needed that.”

“That was my assessment as well,” Dirthamen agrees, and thinks she has forgotten or not heard his question. Until she gestures vaguely at the television, anyway.

“I’m not really watching this,” she admits. “I was trying to find something but there’s nothing on.”

He glances over towards the screen, and sees what appears to be a local news station. Or… not local? Somehow Selene has managed to find the local news station for a small city in Tevinter. Hmm. The reporter informs him that a bear has been sited in the region and that residents are advised to be cautious when heading outdoors, at least until animal control experts can contain the situation.

He hands Selene the lemon water, and brushes a hand across her cheeks. Still very warm. She sighs, again.

“Your hands are cool,” she murmurs.

Dirthamen considers that, and then smooths his touch across her forehead, and the over-heated skin of her temples. She leans into it, and then sniffs.

“The decongestant Fear gave you is likely wearing off,” he notes. “Do you want another…?”

“Not right now,” she requests, voice thick and scratching. She takes a sip of her water. Dirthamen accepts her assessment, and continues to brush stray strands of her hair away from her face, as she rests against the cooling pad and drinks. After a few moments, she begins listing towards him; and then she reaches over, and drops the remote into his lap.

“Here,” she says. “Put it on what you like, you shouldn’t just sit here all bored.”

He had found the atmosphere more peaceful than dull, but he supposes he might be better suited to finding something they can watch. His eyes are not nearly so watery. Settling an arm down around Selene’s shoulders, he lets her finish listing until she is simply leaning against him. The cooling pad crinkles against his arm, the magic tingling just the tiniest bit, but otherwise stays in place.

Selene rests a cheek against his shoulder.

Dirthamen takes up the remote with his free hand, and begins to channel surf.

“Let me know what I should move the pad,” he requests.

“Never,” Selene murmurs, as her eyelids flutter shut.

Dirthamen supposes he will have to use his own judgement. He does not think Selene is considering potential skin health problems with prolonged exposure to a magical cooling device, at the moment.

She breathes in, and when she exhales, it makes a soft whistling sound.

Dirthamen lets the television rest for a moment on what seems to be an Orlesian baking competition. He listens to Selene’s breaths, as she wrinkles her nose. Not entirely congested, yet, but she does seem to be having difficulties. There is a tissue box within reaching distance. She makes no move towards it, though, instead adjusting position and facial expression until the whistling subsides, and her face is more or less pressed against his shoulder.

Tilting his head, he presses a kiss to her brow, and then moves the cooling pad down a few inches. Some of her lemon water sloshes onto his shirt. Selene does not seem to notice; Dirthamen gently takes it from her hand – she drank _some_ at least – and moves it to the coffee table instead.

When he settles back, Selene frowns, and then slumps onto him once more. After a moment of consideration, he plucks up a throw pillow from one side of the couch, and settles it into his lap. This provides a superior landing zone for Selene’s tilting and leaning and listing, as she almost immediately slumps onto it with a sound of relief.

He resettles the cooling pad for a third time – this time on her collarbones – and brushes his fingers across her brow again. There is a great deal of pressure and heat in her face. It shows in the odd darkness of her cheeks, and the persistent glassiness of her eyes. Dirthamen takes a few moments to run his hand over the cooling pad, and then brushes his touch back up her cheeks, tracing over sore sinuses before running his fingers into her hair.

After a few rounds of this, her breaths start to even out, and her eyes close completely. The baking show is a gentle murmur in the background. Distantly, he can hear what sounds like Deceit laughing at something Des has said; and Fear humming to Kel in the quiet safety of their room.

It is peaceful. Even if they are not all feeling well. And he finds he enjoys the moment; the fact that he can give some comfort.

Enough so that he ends up staying like that for much of the night. Rearranging the cooling pad, and watching terrible television shows, and brushing cool fingers across Selene’s brow.


	30. Chapter 30

The front door slams open while Deceit is setting the table for dinner. Fear leaps up from their chair, moving immediately into attack position at the noise.

They settle back down once they notice a skipping Des, arms filled with a binder and a large grin on his face as he calls out “Honeys, I’m home!”

Deceit laughs, while Fear grumbles a quiet ‘welcome home’ and they settle back into their chair to continue reading. Des moves further into the house, peeking into the kitchen where Selene and Dirthamen are finishing up dinner, as he slams the binder down onto one of the counters in eyesight of everyone.

“I know what we’re doing for my birthday!” He announces proudly.

Selene frowns. “Your birthday isn’t for another three months.”

“It’s never too soon to plan for big events.” Des argues.

“How big are we talking?” Deceit asks, moving closer to Des as they eye the binder next to him.

“Big enough that I want most of the creative control, not so big that it’s going to freak out our more socially anxious partners.”

Deceit nods, as Selene moves in to start thumbing through the binder. “You put all this together on your own?”

Des puts his hands on his hips and pouts playfully “What, you don’t think I could? I can be organized and crafty and shit too.”

“You just don’t usually put this much forethought into things,” Selene muses. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or terrified.”

“A healthy combination of the two is often appropriate.” Dirthamen notes from over her shoulder.

Selene stops as she reaches the second section of the binder and gives a flat “ **No**.”

“Selene, it’s my _birthday_ -”

“There’s a limit.”

“What if I promise to get you very, _very_ drunk first?”

“Why don’t the rest of us just plan your birthday like we usually do?”

“Because then we wouldn’t get to do karaoke!”

Deceit interrupts “Wait, you want to do _karaoke_ for your birthday?”

“An entire night of being serenaded by my rock star sig nifs in public? Yes, _yes I do_.”

“I do not know if this is a good idea,” Dirthamen pipes up. “Should I wear my mask?”

“What? No!” Des argues. “You’re not going as Labyrinth, you’re going as my lovers. No masks necessary.”

“You picked out outfits for us,” Selene sighs, still looking through the binder. “I’m not wearing that.”

“We dressed up for _your_ birthday.”

Selene frowns, but concedes the point as she continues through the pages.

“Is it really serenading if we’re just singing in a room together? We could do that here,” Deceit muses.

“That’s the beautiful part,” Des grins. “It’s a club! They have a live band and back up singers, and you sign up to sing in front of _everyone_ from the song list.”

Selene slowly straightens, one hand pinching the bridge of her nose while the other one slowly raises.

“Yeeees?” Des asks, pointing at Selene.

“Des…Des the last section of this is just _sex toys_.”

“Well _obviously_ we’re going to have sex afterwards. Being prepared always makes everyone more comfortable, plus we can test them out beforehand if anyone’s worried.”

Dirthamens eyes narrow slightly, still looking over Selenes shoulder as he points at one of the more strangely shaped pieces “What does this do?”

“Babe, I am _so glad_ you asked,” Des says as his face lights up and he moves beside Selene. “That one is actually an attachment piece for this one over here, and works as a thrusting mechanism-”

“This is going to be a long three months.” Selene sighs as everyone gathers to listen to Des’s explanations.


	31. Chapter 31

Selene’s fingers stumble through the jangling keys, attempting to unlock the front door with her arms loaded down by bags of groceries. Before she can turn the key, the door swings open and Kel appears, jumping up and down excitedly with an unopened letter in her hands.

The ink on the front is a deep green, and the name above the return address reads _Alaris_.

“Mama, Mama!” Kel calls, still jumping up and down in the doorway. “Who’s S-Suh… _Sulvuna_?”

For a moment, Selene debates making a run for it; the sound of the groceries falling would make an ample distraction. She had sprung for the fancier olive oil and the glass bottle breaking would mean Kel couldn’t run after her, and the others would have to stay to keep her back at least until it was cleaned up, giving Selene time to cross a fair amount of distance. Deceits car keys are still in her hand-so long as she leaves it in a safe parking lot they’d get their vehicle back eventually so it wouldn’t _really_ be stealing, and once she was far enough away they couldn’t arrest her and it’s unlikely they’d really press charges anyways right?

But Dirthamen steps into the doorway behind Kel, placing a hand gently on their daughters head to stop her jumping while reaching with his other hand to take some of the groceries from Selene. She doesn’t even think twice before handing them over to him and mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ as he welcomes her back home.

“Why do you ask sweetie?” Selene asks quietly, trying to calm down her erratic heartbeat as she steps inside.

“They got a letter! Dessie told me not to open it, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else, even when I said _please_. Then Nanae and Nabae got really serious looks on their faces, and Papa said I could have one of the cookies in the cabinet so long as I promised to be good, and then when I finished that cookie I was still hungry so I asked Dessie if I could have another one and he said yes but snuck me _two_ and now I’ve had _three_ whole cookies but I still don’t know who the letter is for! Do you know, Mama? Do you?”

“It’s for me, Kel,” Selene explains, placing the last two bags down on the counter, mildly impressed that she managed to go through all of that without taking a breath. “May I have it please?”

Kel hands it over, still vibrating slightly on her feet from what Selene assumes must be a sugar rush. Dirthamen comes back out from the kitchen, presumably to put away the rest of the groceries but pauses when he sees Selene opening the envelope.

She takes a deep breath, bracing herself for bad news as she begins to read.

> _Sulvuna,_
> 
> _I am afraid I have news for you. Please call me at your earliest convenience._
> 
> _Thank you,_
> 
> _Alaris_
> 
> _Keeper of Clan Lavellan_

Selene snorts at the letter, flipping it over to check that she hadn’t perhaps missed something. But there is nothing else written on the letter, and Dirthamen cautiously approaches.

“It is good news then?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Selene admits, handing the paper over. “He sent me a letter asking me to call him.”

“That seems…wasteful?”

“Or like a stalling tactic,” Selene sighs. “I should probably call him, though.”

Dirthamen nods, ushering Kel into the kitchen to help put away the remaining groceries while Selene steps back outside to call her cousin.

“Hello, you have reached Keeper Alaris of Clan Lavellan, how can I help you?” comes a bright but clearly trying too hard to sound authoritative voice from the other end of the phone.

Selene shakes her head and mimics the professional tone as she replies “Yes, this is Sulvuna, cousin to Keeper Alaris of Clan Lavellan and I received an incredibly vague letter in the mail asking me to call him.”

“Oh! Sulvuna!” Alaris greets, more relaxed now. “Yes, I just-give me one moment please- Sulvuna, yes. I was hoping to hear from you soon. I mean, I’m always hoping to hear from you, you could call more you know, we are related and I barely know what’s going on in your life these days. How is your daughter doing? Or Era-er, Des? Are you still seeing that band?”

“You’re stalling,” Selene evades. “Did something happen?”

“Er…yes,” Alaris lets out a long breath, and waits several beats before telling her “Elrogathe has passed. In his sleep.”

Selene blinks.

Her body slumps, leaning against one of the large trees in their yard, trying to translate Alaris’s sentence into words that actually make sense.

“…Oh.” She says.

“Yes…” Alaris continues, speaking a bit more slowly now. “I know the two of you were having issues, and your last encounters were…tense. But you _are_ the last living member of his bloodline. Traditionally, you are the one responsible for concluding his affairs and determining what to do with his possessions.”

“Possessions? Papae never owned anything but his potions.”

“Well, there is the matter of those of course. But also his tools, clothes, his notes and also the aravel-”

“You can keep all that. Redistribute it to the other clan members as you see fit, you’re part of the family too.”

“Sulvuna, I am not entirely sure what all of his potions _do,_ the man never labeled anything” Alaris admits “And you know Elrogathe never considered me family, we’re only related because your mother and my father were twins, there’s no shared blood between him and I.”

“Well he never really considered me family either, and he openly disowned me so _really-”_

“ _Sulvuna,”_ Alaris says forcefully. “You are the only one who knows how any of his systems work. It’s not as though he’s going to be here to fight with again-”

“ _He started those fights_!”Selene points out.

“That is not the point, and you know better than to speak ill of the dead,” Alaris continues. “We _need_ you. Please.”

Selene sighs, and drags a hand down her face. “I can’t. I can’t just leave Kel and the others. There’s a concert on Friday, and Des has work and I’m the only one who’ll be home to keep an eye on her- I just can’t, Alaris. I’m sorry.”

“Bring her along then,” Alaris decides. “Bring all of them, if you’d like. I’d love to meet your family, and I’ll pass around their pictures to ensure the other clan members don’t harm them on your travels.”  
  


“Alaris-”

“Sulvuna, _please._ ” he begs in the same tone he used when they were children and he was in over his head with a spell.

Selene shakes her head. “I’ll ask them if they’re interested,” She concedes. “But if not, I won’t be able to come, and you will need to accept that. Alright?”

“That’s…” Alaris pauses, and she can mentally see him weighing his options before he finally says “That’s acceptable, I suppose. Please call me back tonight so I can make proper arrangements. Thank you, Sulvuna.”

The line clinks off, and Selene stares blankly at her phone.

“Oh, do I _not_ want to do this…”

–

Unsurprisingly, Des is the first one to turn down Alaris’s offer. “Absolutely not. The last time we went, they tried to kill you.”

The others turn to look at Selene at that, looks of concern and disappointment that this information hadn’t been shared previously on their faces. Selenes own warms as she shuffles on her feet at the end of the table. “It was Elrogathe that shot the arrow, and since he’s gone that’s probably not a risk.”

Des still looks apprehensive.

“Well you are not going alone,” Fear announces. “I can cancel this Fridays concert. It is only a festival and we aren’t the headliners besides. They will find someone to fill our slot.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

But Fear is already dialing their manager and stepping out of the room before Selene can finish her argument. Her shoulders slump in defeat, Deceit standing and patting her shoulder consolingly.   
“Could be fun you know,” They point out. “Family trip and all that.”

Des snorts. “I think I’d rather take a trip anywhere else. How about Disney? Kel is at a great age for Disney.”

Kel raises her hand and enthusiastically announces that she seconds Des’s idea, before Dirthamen softly but sternly explains to them that perhaps another year when there hasn’t been a recent close death, Disney might be more appropriate.

Kel pouts, and Des leans back in his chair. “M'just saying, if there were ever one to _celebrate…_ ” he mutters under his breath before Deceit shoots him a withering glare.

The rest of the evening is a blur of making travel arrangements and helping Kel decide which toys to bring and which should be left to guard the house while they’re out. Selene only tries to crawl out of her window once before Deceit catches her in the act and convinces her to sleep in their bed for the night. She has to admit, it is very steadying to have the familiar weight of them around her. Exhaustion catches up to her before long, eyelids and muscles heavy under the weight of the day as sleep overtakes her.

Deceit gently kisses her awake with the morning sun and roaming hands before Fear knocks and announces it is time to start the drive out to the clan.

They take the Imperial Highway out towards Verchiel, making notes of places of interest to potentially stop at on the way back home. Driving is done in shifts to ensure they are able to get there as quickly as possible, and it is already dark by the time Selene is sitting in the passenger seat of the minivan as Des drives past streetlight after streetlight, the rest of their family asleep behind them.

“We could still turn around you know,” Des finally says, waking Selene from her reverie. “Go back home. Tell them Alaris called and we weren’t needed anymore.”

“It’s tempting,” Selene admits, knees curling up towards her chest. “I’m just…I don’t know what to expect when we get there. This isn’t something I ever expected. Our new life clashing with our old one like this…”

“It probably won’t all be terrible,” Des tries. “Deceit’s gonna be popular.”

“At least four proposals.” Selene jokes.

“Five if Entareth is there.”

“Goodness, he always threw himself at anything that sang didn’t he?”

“You would know.” Des grins.

Selene snorts, pushing playfully against Des’s shoulder. The tension finally starts to bleed out of the two of them, attention falling back to the road ahead.

–

It takes another few days before they get to the rest stop nearest to the paths. They leave the car in the early morning, Fear triple checking that the locks and alarms are set and connected to their phone before they head out. Selene and Des both carrying their old robes in their packs, just in case. The trails are overgrown, and a few times they have to physically lift Kel over roots and moss, and guide themselves away from laid out traps hidden beneath the leaves. The sun is setting by the time Selene and Des have finally spotted the tops of the aravels, rearranging so that the others are all safely behind them.

Alaris spots them almost immediately, greeting them as they enter the camp.

“ _Andaran atish’an_! I am Keeper Alaris, welcome to Clan Lavellan.”

“ _Aneth Ara,_ Alaris,” Selene greets with a slight bow of her head. “You know Des already. This is Dirthamen, Deceit, and Fear. And of course, Kel.”

“Oh goodness!” Alaris bends down, perched to make eye contact with his niece as he offers her a large smile. “ _Aneth ara, da'len_. You’ve certainly grown since I last saw you. Do you remember me at all?”

Kel shakes her head slowly, gripping tightly to Dirthamens pant leg.

“That’s alright,” Alaris reassures her, standing back to his usual height, still more than a head shorter than Selene. “I hope the journey wasn’t too much for you all. You must be hungry. Come, there is food for you near the fire.”

Selene looks back at her family, who seem to be clumping together beneath the curious stares of the rest of the clan.

  
_It’s going to be a long trip,_ she thinks.

_-_

Dinner is awkward, Alaris asking question after question of Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear, and Des while various clan members approach to give Selene their quiet condolences. Kel’s gaze can’t quite seem to decide where it wants to settle most, but she seems determined to stay attached to at least one of her parents at all times despite her curiosities.

Probably for the best, Selene thinks.

They’re just finishing up their stew when a very tall man with a long red braid steps out of one of the aravels. Selene feels like her heart has stopped, every muscle and reflex in her body screaming to _Run_ while refusing to actually listen _._

Des catches sight of him too, as the tall man makes his way over towards the fire, a smile on his face as he waves in greeting.

“Sulvuna!” He calls “It’s been forever!”

“Not long enough,” Des mutters beneath his breath.

The tall elf makes his way towards the group, attempting to shoo Fear out of their space beside Selene. When they refuse to budge he gives a small huff, and just stands in front of her instead.   
“Haleir,” She greets with a mumble, shoulders hunching in as she tries to make herself as small as possible. If there were a good time to disappear, this would be it she thinks.

“How have you been?” He asks, taking a step closer to her even as Des’s muscles tense in anticipation.

“Fine,” She answers quietly.

“Good, good,” he nods. “Trade’s doing well. Lots of vendors asked about you, after you abandoned us you know.”

Selene swallows her words, staring determinedly down at the ground and trying to count in her head, to block him out, to pretend she is anywhere other than here right now.

“Hard to explain you ran off with a demon without it reflecting poorly on the clan, right?” he pushes.

“Hey,” Deceit interrupts, standing threateningly from where they were eating. Nearly a foot shorter than the orange haired elf, but no less intimidating from the scowl on their face. “Do you have a problem?”

Haleir frowns, turning to look at Deceit and the others situated around Selene. He must decide that it wouldn’t benefit him to pick a fight here, and puts his hands up in surrender. “No problem,” he assures them. “Just wanted to clear the air before we start our trip tomorrow.” he turns back to look at Selene “We can always talk on the way.”

Selenes head snaps back up to look at Alaris, betrayal in her eyes. “I-we- _what_?”

Alaris shifts uncomfortably. “Haleir knows the safest way to Var Bellanaris, where your father wished to be buried. I thought it would be best for you two to go together, since you’re not actually _allowed_ in, Sulvuna. Haleir being there means you can enter with him, without trespassing.”

“ _No,_ ”she and Des say in unison. “I’m not taking the journey with him.”

“Sulvuna, Haleir graciously moved his schedule around so he could do this with you, it would be rude to-”

“ _ **No**_.” she repeats.

“ _Why not_?” Alaris finally shoots back.

Selene opens her mouth. Looks over at Kel, dozing off in Dirthamens lap, the way both Des and Deceit look posed to strike already, a similar vibe coming off of Fear on her other side. She lets out a breath.

“We…Can talk about that in private,” She finally manages.

Alaris frowns, but doesn’t push the matter farther.

“We’re all tired,” Des says, trying to placate the situation into something less tense. “Where should we sleep?”

“I’ve got room in my Aravel-” Haleir begins telling Selene before Fear steps in between them, filling in the last bit of space that Haleir had been about to step into.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Fear says with an unquestionably dangerous undertone. “Keeper Alaris?”

“Yes! Yes,” Alaris says, rising to his feet. “I’ve strung up an extra hammock in Elrogathes Aravel for you, but if you need another I have an extra in my own that you can use while you’re with us.”

Selene nods in thanks, standing and placing a hand on Fears shoulder to pull them away from Haleir before anyone gets hurt.

The inside of the aravel looks exactly as Selene remembers it; walls lined with bottles and jars filled with salves and potions and tools. Three hammocks are slung through it; the one in the middle, for patient use, the one on the far right wall where she used to sleep, and another a few feet from it.

The one which used to be slung on the far left, where her father slept, is no longer there. A strangely blank corner of an otherwise meticulously filled room.

“Guess we’re doubling up,” Deceit notes without any complaint in their tone, placing their bag down beneath the patient hammock. Des joins them, noting that he met Selene in that hammock anyways. Fear and Kel take the next one, and Selene and Dirthamen agree to share her old one.

“Who was that, earlier?” Dirthamen quietly asks Selene later, when they are laying together in the hammock. The sounds of bugs and frogs chirping outside loudly in the summer heat, the rest of the camp already quiet for the night. Selene lets out a slow breath before answering.

“That was Haleir.”

Dirthamen is quiet for several moments, and Selene waits while he decides which follow up question he would like to ask.

“He seemed to know you.”

“We were together, when I was still here. Sort of.”

“Oh. Was it serious?”

Des scoffs loudly from his own hammock, and Selene debates for a moment the merits of flipping it over.

“Depends on who you ask.” She answers instead.

Dirthamen seems satisfied by these answers, or at least enough so that he doesn’t ask anything else that night. His arms tighten around her middle, taking the position of larger spoon for the night. It doesn’t take long for them all to fall asleep, tired and worn out from their journey.

–

Des wakes in the morning to find that Selene has already left for Var Bellanaris.

It’s upsetting that she didn’t at least say goodbye first, but he understands wanting to get everything taken care of as soon as possible so they can get back to their real home.

And Haleir is still in camp, so he didn’t get to go with her anyways.

Good.

Des steps out early, stretching his arms high over his head while he goes to get some breakfast for everyone. He takes several fresh rolls, a bowl filled high with eggs and a couple cups filled with hart milk.

He didn’t miss the way everyone here looks at him. Sure, behind flaps and in the dark of night it was perfectly normal to spend time with him, to _ask_ for his company even. But here, in the light of day, Ghilan'nain forbid any of them are publicly seen with a _demon spawn_.

Ugh.

At least he managed to get Kel out of here, and keep her from growing up with those issues.

He catches the eye of a group of younger elves, likely born after he left but well into their teens already. They stop whispering abruptly when they notice him looking at them, and he just can’t resist. He sticks out his tongue, dragging it over his lips with a spark of purple flame lit at the end, holding eye contact the whole time before vanishing back into the aravel.

He hears one of the elders clearing their throat pointedly outside, but shrugs it off. He pushes Elrogathes things out of the center of the table, placing down the food and drink while the others each wake in turn.

“Did Selene leave…?” Dirthamen asks, voice heavy with sleep as he stumbles out of the hammock he had been sharing previously.

“A few hours ago,” Fear answers. “I’m not sure she slept much at all.”

“Look who’s talking,” Des teases, handing a glass of milk and a roll to Kel, her legs small enough they’ve slipped through the holes in the hammock and turned it into a rather comfortable seat.

“Haleir’s still here though, so that’s one issue taken care of.”

Deceit nods in agreement while Dirthamen stares curiously at the contents of his cup.

–

“So what should we do?” Deceit asks once they’ve all finished eating and getting dressed for the day. Alaris had brought in several sets of robes for each of them to choose from, likely pieces the clan had outgrown, but enough to make them look less immediately out of place during their stay.

“What do you want to do?” Des asks, rearranging some of the belts on Kels outfit, even as the sight leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Not that she doesn’t look adorable in it (His daughter would look adorable in anything, really), but he’s beginning to see what Selene means about their two lives clashing.

  
“Can we see the Halla?” Kel pipes up.

Des smiles at her. “Sure. I’m sure we could work something out.”

Entareth is watching over the Halla now, Ghilan'nains vallaslin scrawled over his features in a pale yellow. “Hey Entareth,” Des greets, carrying Kel in his arms. “How’s it going?”

“ _Aneth ara,_ Era'harel,” Entareth greets, and Des has to bite his cheek to remind himself not to start a fight over the use of his old name.

“It’s Des, actually” he corrects anyways. “And this is Kel. She wanted to know if she could meet the Halla.”

Entareth seems skeptical of the idea, explaining that halla aren’t really _safe_ for such young children until Alaris walks up to them.

“Is everything alright?” he asks.

“Kel wanted to see the Halla, and Entareth is making excuses,” Des says plainly. Entareth starts to argue but Des just shrugs and says “Well you _were_.”

“I’m sure Kel will be fine. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

“But her _parents_ -” Entareth says, volume dropping drastically on the last word, but Alaris holds up a hand to stop him, face going seriously.

“Kel is Sulvunas daughter, and my niece. Are you saying you have concerns about our family?”

Entareth, to his credit, has the decency to look abashed at his words before finally agreeing and mumbling a quiet apology as Kel strides proudly past him and towards the halla in their field.

Entareth and Fear follow her out towards the creatures; Entareth teaching her how to approach them, and Fear keeping watch that nothing dangerous or unsavory might happen to their daughter.

“Thank you,” Dirthamen says to Alaris, moving to stand beside him. “She is quite a large fan of halla. And dragons.”

Alaris smiles brightly “She has good taste. Thank you for bringing her here. I’m sure the journey was difficult, I appreciate you all making such an effort.”

“We appreciate being given the invitation.” Dirthamen returns.

A few other elves have stopped in their chores, watching Kel approach and interact happily with hallas, whispering among each other.

Deceit frowns, noting them. “You all sure do love to gossip.”

“Ah, yes. A bad habit, and difficult to break,” Alaris notes, looking to the elves. “I have tried, but largely I’m viewed as biased on this topic, due to my personal connections to those most often involved.”

“That’s because you _are_ biased,” comes a voice all too familiar to Des, and he has to resist the urge to turn and punch the man approaching; violence is on the list of Things Not To Do in front of Kel.

“As are you, Haleir,” Alaris notes. “You and Sulvuna were quite the hot topic when you were younger. We were all sure you were going to bond one day.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Haleir says with a shrug. “I dodged a bullet.”

Alaris frowns, but Deceit speaks up before someone else can. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She ran off with this little demon,” Haleir says, gesturing to Des “And then welcomed _another_ one into her home. She’s probably an abomination herself! Explains why Elrogathe had such a rough go with her, and why she was so uptight about everything. You know what I’m talking about, right man? Don’t you all take turns fucking her or something? I don’t know how you take all the _complaining_ she does, unless you’re into gags or some-”

Haleir doesn’t get to finish that sentence though, as a blast of icy wind barrels through him, knocking him back several feet. There is a trail of ice and frost covering the grass from where he landed, leading straight back to where Dirthamen is standing, head high and shoulders straight and murder in his eyes.

It’s _super_ hot, Des thinks.

“What the _fu_ -”Haleir starts, but Dirthamen takes a step forward, and cuts him off.

“It was _you,_ ” Dirthamen says, voice low and calm, but his magic swirling around him in a cold blaze of fury.

“What- Alaris, stop him!” Haleir yells, loudly enough that Fear and Kel look up from where the halla are still grazing, unperturbed by the magical energies in the air.

“Dirthamen,” Alaris says, holding his staff ahead of him defensively as he steps in between them“You can’t kill a member of my clan. I won’t let you.”

Dirthamen pauses slightly, eyes narrowing. “You _defend_ him, after what he did to her?”

“He didn’t do anythin-” Alaris starts

“He raped her,” Des says quietly enough that Kel won’t be able to hear. “I found them, while we were out. The last trip we went on with him.”

Alaris nearly drops his staff in shock.

Then his knuckles turn white on it, as he spins accusingly towards Haleir.

“You did _what_?”

“It wasn’t-”Haleir argues “She practically _asked_ for it, we were dating and she was old enough, and we were gonna do it eventually anyways-you just said yourself we were gonna be bonded!”

Alaris stops a foot away from Haleir. Closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before planting his staff firmly in the ground.

“You need to leave.”

Haleir blinks from his spot on the ground.   
“ _What_?”

“I will not tolerate that sort of behavior in the clan,” Alaris says, cold and professional and authoritative. “Had I known then, you would have been told to leave long ago. It is my duty to keep my clan safe. You are a danger to the people. You need to leave, or I will make you. Do you understand?”

Haleir stammers, shocked at how the situation seems to have turned on him ( _And really, you’ve had this coming for_ _ **years**_ _,_ Des thinks smugly). He looks from Des, to Deceit, to Alaris, to Dirthamen, before finally scowling and standing. “Fine!” He says, brushing a thin layer of frost off his clothes. “I’ve been carrying this clan for years, anyways. Good luck supporting the people without any trade, _Keeper_.”

Haleir turns and walks away in an overly dramatic huff. Or at least, he tries to, but Deceit sticks their leg out when Haleir goes to pass them, causing the tall elf to stumble face first into the dirt.

“I knew I had good taste.” Des announces proudly, slinging an arm over Alaris’s shoulder.

–

It takes another three days for Selene to return to camp, looking worn and exhausted and in need of a warm shower.

Dirthamen is the first to greet her with a desperately passionate kiss, surprising her enough that she loses her balance and has to be caught. Deceit follows, with a series of short but strong kisses, and Fear even gives her a long hug.

“I was only gone a few days,” Selene laughs as Kel jumps into her arms and refuses to be put back down. “What happened?”

“I learned how to take care of Halla! Dessie showed me how to carve with a real knife, and Nanae and Nabae sang a bunch of songs after they drank some weird juice last night!” Kel announces. “Oh, and Papa almost killed someone!”

Selene blinks, eyes shooting straight to Dirthamen. “He what?”

“It was Haleir,” Des tells her dismissively “Doesn’t really count.”

Her eyes widen, and her grip tightens on Kel. “Oh. But he-where is he. Now? Should we-”

“He’s been banned from the clan,” Des grins, still stupidly happy at the news. Almost better than a lyrium high, really. “So you won’t be seeing him here again.”

She relaxes a little bit at that. “Oh. Well that’s, that’s great. Did he hurt someone? What happened?”

“I told Alaris the truth,” Des admits. “And he took action.”

“Oh…” Selene says, swallowing. “Oh, so he-They all-”

“We never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to,” Fear assures her. “But you should know we figured something along those lines had happened, already. If it helps.”

Selene nods, slowly. “Ok. Ok, that’s…good, I guess. I’m sorry. That I never…told you.”

“We forgive you,” Deceit says as they place a kiss to her forehead “Not that there’s really much to forgive.”

Selene thanks them quietly, looking as though she might collapse where she stands under the strain of her last few days and the news they just gave her. Des wouldn’t be surprised if she did; he’s not particularly spiritual, but Var Bellanaris isn’t an easy journey on any level, even if the loss you’re mourning is that of an ass who’s not worth the tears.

Probably a good idea to take Kel out of her arms before she does, though.

So he does, picking Kel up and taking her back to visit the Halla one last time while Selene sorts and labels the containers left by her father for the healer who should be here by tomorrow morning from Clan Ralaferin.

After a night around the fire, listening to old stories and songs and seeing Selene more comfortable in her clan than he can ever remember, they finally retire to the aravel for the night. Their bags are already packed, ready to journey back out to the rest stop to get their car and drive home in the morning. Too relieved to all be together again, they end up laying their blankets out on the floor and sleeping in a large pile rather than in separate hammocks for the night.

It’s cold, and uncomfortable and probably at least a little filthy because he can’t recall ever once seeing Elrogathe cleaning something he didn’t absolutely need to. But even with the cicadas screeching and the too loud frogs near the river, Des thinks it’s a good place to be.

Together, with his family.


	32. Chapter 32

“It’s not like I’m going to _call_ them,” Selene points out as Deceit frowns over the small pile of business cards and phone numbers left for Selene after her latest guest lecture.

“It’s fine if you do,” Deceit sniffs indignantly “None of my business.”

Selene raises an eyebrow curiously “Oh? So you wouldn’t care if I went to lunch with…” She glances down to read the name on the card with the fresh lipstick mark on top. “Zarynn?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the P sound. “I’ve got fans too you know. Maybe I’ll go to lunch with one of them while you go with Zarynn. We could double date.”

“So you _do_ think it’d be a date-”

“I didn’t say that-”

“You said _exactly_ that!”

“Well-Well it would be!”

“Not if it’s a business lunch, Deceit. Some of these people are offering me a _job_.”

“I doubt Zarynn kissed her business card before she gave it to you because she was offering you a job that didn’t have a body part in front of the name.”

Selene sighs and drags her hand down her face. “I already told you I wasn’t going to call them. Why are you making such a thing about this?”

“I’m not! I’m proud of you, I’m glad your theory has gotten so many positive responses and inquiries.”

Selene looks at Deceit blankly, clearly not buying their answer.

“I’m just-You know, Dirthamen and Fear don’t really have people approaching them for stuff like this. There was never a threat of their attention being pulled away.”

“Des gets hit on literally every time he leaves the house,” Selene points out.

“Sure, but it’s _Des_. Des being interested in anyone on anything other than a surface level is like getting struck by lightning.”

“And I, what?” Selene asks defensively. “Fall in love with anything that moves?”

“No,” Deceit assures her “But you get attached to people easily. Which means more time at lunches and meetings, and less time at home with the family or for, say…dates.”

Selenes eyes widen as she realizes all at once Deceits issue. “Oh my gods, you’re jealous.”

“I am _not_ -”

“ _You so are!”_ Selene gapes “I’ve literally stood in the audience while people threw their underwear onstage for you, but I bring home a couple of numbers and _you’re jealous_!”

Deceit throws their hands up in the air “I can’t talk to you if you’re going to throw out wild accusations like that.”

“’ _Wild accusation_ ’ my butt!” Selene grins. “You’re worried I’m going to…what, leave? After three kids and over a decade together? _Really_?”

Deceit crosses their arms over the chest, pouting. “Well, when you say it like _that…_ ”

She shakes her head, moving to close the space between them. “I would never leave you,” Selene assures them quietly. “And if it really bothers you this much, you can toss those cards.”

Deceit glances up at her, eyes peering over the rim of his sunglasses. “Will you promise me some us time too?”

Selene blinks, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “Of course. You want an extra day this month, or…?”

“You canceled our last two dates,” Deceit reminds her. Selene thinks back, wincing slightly as she realizes he’s right. Last week she had had to cancel when Dirthamen had to attend a sudden dinner with his mother and the twins were sick, and Des and Fear had already left for a weekend trip. The month before she had canceled for a conference that had changed her speaking time last moment to Friday instead of Sunday.

“You’re right,” She sighs. “I’m so sorry. We can have some us time as soon as you’d like.”

The way Deceits eyes light up should have been the first clue for Selene that something was up.

“Really?” He inquires, voice sounding all too innocent. His fingers slip easily into the belt loops on her shorts, pulling her slowly towards him. “As _soon_ as I’d like?”

“Within reason,” Selene agrees.

Deceits face splits into a grin she is all too familiar with, and she thinks for a moment that Deceit and Des have influenced each other far too much to be safe.

“ _Well,_ ” he points out. “The children are all at school. Dirthamen is at work, and Des and Fear are out running errands. So, _reasonably_ , it seems like now could be good for some us time, yeah?”

Selene laughs as he tugs her flush to himself.

“Yes, alright,” She agrees. “We can do some us time now if you’d like.”

“Wonderful,” Deceit grins, hoisting her up into his arms. Selene lets out a soft squeak of surprise, her arms looping around his neck for support as he bounds up the stairs and into his bedroom. He drops her onto his mattress, quickly yanking his own shirt over his head and tossing it to a pile in the corner.

“Impatient?” Selene teases, pulling her own tank top off.

“Maybe,” Deceit murmurs as he crawls over top of her. “I missed you.”

Selene lets out a relaxed sigh as his lips traverse the edge of her ear, her arms wrapping around his torso. “I missed you too.”

Deceit leaves a long line of kisses down the length of her body, sliding off her clothes as he goes. He pulls her to the edge of the bed, long legs draped over his shoulders as he buries his face between her thighs. Selene twists and moans in pleasure, her fingers trailing through the length of his hair and over his ears where he kneels on the floor. His hands brush over her hips and thighs, sending a pleasant shudder through her body that pushes her over the edge all at once, much more suddenly than usual. Deceit, still absorbed in his task continues without so much as slowing his pace.  
Selene panics momentarily, concerned about moving into uncomfortable and overstimulated territory, but as Deceit continues she finds it never comes. Wave after wave of pleasure wash over her, one after the other, and with each one Selene feels tensions and stress falling farther and farther away from her. She cries out as the second orgasm hits her, stronger as it tears through her, forcing her whole back to arch up and off of the bed.

This time, Deceit pauses, looking up from between her thighs and pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

“Alright?” He asks.

Selene nods, and holds up two fingers, still panting on the bed. Deceit looks at them quizzically before realizing what she means. “Oh! I didn’t mean to-are you alright?”

Selene swallows and nods again. “Very alright. Very much more than alright, even.”

Deceits eyebrows raise as a devilish grin comes over his face. “Really?”

“That was, uh…”Selene coughs, clearing her throat “I think I may like not stopping in between, actually. A lot.”

Deceits grin spreads further and further, his hands moving to unclip his belt and shimmy out of his pants, freeing his cock from the confines of his tight jeans.   
“Well,” He says, snatching up a small pile of condoms and a container of lube. “Lets see how long we can keep it up this time, shall we?”

Selene gulps, skin flushing all the way down to her toes in anticipation.

It is going to be a very, _very_ long night.


	33. Chapter 33

Deceit has _always_ loved Selene’s responses.

The sound of her breaths as they grow ragged. The arch of her back when she lifts halfway off the bed, as if trying to reach something in her pleasure that just can’t quite be reached. The way she twists, and hums, and the way her skin darkens when she’s flushed, and how warm and near and _intense_ she feels. The way the corners of her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and the way her lips curl after they’ve exchanged a half dozen lazy kisses. Sometimes her skin grows so hot that, back in the early days, he used to worry that she was feverish, or about to literally catch fire. But she’s never come to harm over it, and honestly, the time or two he’s made actual flames lick up and dance across her fingertips were unequivocal bedroom successes.

She never burns any of _them,_ either. One time Dirthamen got on actual plume of flame against his hand, and he swore it only felt sort of like he was being licked.

And speaking of licking…

Their marathon ‘together time’ has to come to a stop when the kids get home from school, of course. Deceit hardly minds that, especially not when Selene agrees to pick it back up after tuck-ins. It gives him a chance to rest his tongue, and also to plot things. A quick check and Selene told him that she was fine with letting the others know about their new _discovery._ Deceit has ideas for that. Ideas involving some kind of tag-team eat-out session where they test how long Selene enjoys chaining orgasms for.

But that’s for another time, preferably when they’ve got someone to look after the kids, and anyway, Deceit’s not in the mood for sharing tonight. He’s _missed_ Selene. So he’s not saying a word about it all just yet. If Des gets wind of it he’s going to want to play and much as Deceit enjoys his games, they can wait for a day when he’s feeling less… _needy._

So instead, after homework has been done and bedtime stories have been read, and Kel has been left to read just _one_ more chapter of Harry Potter before she promises she will absolutely turn her lights out, and Des has made off with Dirthamen and Fear has gone off to check all the security cameras from the day, Deceit lifts Selene up from behind and carries her, laughing, into his bedroom.

They both go quiet as they pass the kids’ doors. No sounds of disturbance, though. Deceit spent last night with his door open, on ‘watch duty’, but Kel’s old enough that she’s starting to get over her fear of the dark and occasional nighttime scrambles into one of their rooms, and the twins have always been pretty good sleepers. He ducks his head in on Des and Dirthamen, but their door’s ajar and Des is mostly just doing his cuddle thing, while Dirthamen reads his own copy of Harry Potter.

Deceit grins, and gives them both a little wave, and mimes locking a door. Des shoots back a thumb’s up, so they’re good to go as he whisks Selene into his room. Locking the door, and then pressing her up against it to steal a few kisses.

“You’re still pretty eager,” she notes.

“You’re the one with her hands up my shirt,” he replies. And she does. Warm, wandering hands, and oh, then she _smiles_ and Deceit falls in love all over again. He grins back, and presses a smiling kiss to her lips. Trailing down towards her jaw, as her hands creep up his back, and his own fingers undo the top button of her jeans.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Selene, wonderful Selene…”

She hums, and pulls one of her hands out of his shirt to tangle in his hair instead. Pressing him closer for a moment.

“I love you, too,” she promises. He kisses the side of her neck, soft and lingering, and breathes in her scent for a moment. Before he pulls back enough to start tugging pieces of clothing off of the both of them.

It’s possible he’s getting a little too old for skinny jeans, really. They still look good on, but getting them _off_ isn’t exactly a sexy strip tease anymore. Selene just laughs when he nearly trips out of them, though, and shimmies out of her own jeans with a little more elegance. Deceit tries to make up for it by sweeping her up and spreading her out onto the bed. Brushing a few stray curls away from the sharp, striking angles of her face, and smiling down at her for a moment.

“So I was thinking, maybe I could use a vibrator to help and see how many times I can make you come before my tongue gets too tired to move?” he suggests, waggling his eyebrows. “I have some flavoured lube…”

Selene swallows, and blinks rapidly a couple of times.

“W… uh… well, obviously I _hate_ that idea…” she says, blushing through her sarcasm.

Deceit grins, and leans in to nuzzle her.

“I’ll be careful,” he promises.

“Try not to reduce me to a complete puddle of jelly,” she says. “I like reciprocating too, you know.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of her jaw, and lets his hands start to properly roam.

“But I like reducing you to a complete puddle of jelly,” he counters playfully, and then he has to pull himself away from her so that he can actually _get_ the supplies they need. Selene repositions herself on the bed, moving a few pillows into more comfortable spots and letting her hair fall around her in a way that never fails to arrest Deceit’s attention. He gathers up what they need from the top shelf of the closet, and puts it onto the bedside table.

Before he can really get underway, though, and once he’s back within her range, Selene snags him and pulls him down onto the mattress with her. She closes her lips around the tops of one of his ears, and snuggles at him unabashedly for a moment. Running her fingers up into his hair, nails scratching at the back of his neck in a way that always makes him feel like a well-pleased cat. He lets out a breath and noses at her in return, and takes the cue to just cuddle for a while.

Sometimes, more than he is with the others, Deceit is afraid that Selene will leave.

Because he knows that sometimes she wants to.

It’s not a malicious thing, or a fickle thing, even. He knows how tempting it can be to imagine letting go of everything, and starting fresh. He tried it all throughout highschool, really, always concocting new stories and scenarios and making up things about himself, trying on new personas every few months, as easily as changing clothes or dying his hair. He dreamed about getting on a train or a plain or a bus, and going somewhere that no one knew him. And he never really hated his home life, never had problems like Selene or Des or Fear or Dirthamen did. Deceit basically won the Golden Childhood Lottery, out of the five of them.

Selene’s got that in her, too, that want to just… _go,_ sometimes. Des thinks he has it but he doesn’t, not really. Des wants to be loved too much for that. Wandering’s more for people who think that love might only be temporary, that it can be taken away or lost, and the only way to keep something _good_ is to leave before it changes on you. Before you ruin it.

Deceit’s always been a little afraid of Selene leaving, but it got worse after death almost took her.

He knows it’s not really reasonable. Even _Fear_ knows it’s not really reasonable. But it always feels like something is just trying to hook Selene and pull her out of their lives. And Deceit doesn’t know how to stop it from happening, over and over again.

He doesn’t even know how to articulate it, really. ‘ _I almost lost you’_ is such a strange, aching kind of feeling. Hard enough to venture. But ‘ _I’m afraid I still might’_ is harder still.

It’s easier to just get jealous over lipstick prints on business cards. To tell himself that maybe if he makes her feel good enough, happy enough, it’ll chase every bad thing away until it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s silly. Self-deluding, in a way, like turning on a nightlight and going ‘now that monsters can’t get in here’. But, Deceit’s always been good at self-deluding.

He kisses Selene and touches her, holds her close and lets his weirdly overwrought thoughts calm down again. Lets the building heat simmer up into something pleasant and playful, familiar but still fervent, until he pulls away again, and picks up the vibrator. One of the smaller ones, but Selene’s always liked it, and honestly Deceit always has, too. It has a very cute handle. He holds her gaze for a moment as he uncaps the lube, and then switches it on.

“Want to hold it?” he offers. That’d leave his hands free for roaming. Selene seems to like that idea about as much as he does, because she nods after only a moment. Her lips are still flushed from kissing, as he slickens his fingers and the end of the toy, and then hands it to her. He rubs his hands up and down her thighs, running his thumbs in circles on her hips as she gets the toy where she wants it; and then he settles between her legs, and gets his mouth on her, too.

Eating her out with a vibrator is always kind of fun. It makes his tongue tingle; though, he’s got to be careful not to hit his nose with it. Sneezing would definitely _not_ be fun. Or sexy.

The smooth, soft feel of her heated skin against his tongue is both, though. And so is the way her grip tightens on the vibrator, and her legs tangle a little more firmly around him. Her free hand moves back towards his hair. Fingers toying with the tip of his ear, in a way that makes him tingle all the way down through his stomach. _Nerve connections,_ Fear had told him once. Ears – well, elven ears – are sensitive the way lips or feet or, ah, _other parts_ can be. It’s to help with hearing and sensing movement, but it’s got some bonus side effects. Something about brain pathways? Des had been demonstrating the effects at the time, so Deceit had sort of lost track of the conversation at that point.

Deceit’s ears have always been particularly vulnerable. Selene curls her fingers behind one, as he runs his tongue through her folds, and then rests it for a moment against the edge of the vibrator. Pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves behind it, before starting again. He squeezes Selene’s hips before running his hands up and down her thighs, savouring the warm feel of her, the sounds of her breaths turning ragged, the brief tightening pinch of his ear between her finger and thumb before she stiffens up for a moment.

The first time she comes he gets so excited that he tries going _faster,_ moving his own hand to the one she has holding the vibrator, and pressing it more firmly as he delves his tongue into her. She tastes like strawberry lube and she smells like herself, and it’s wonderfully sweet and little wicked-feeling as her grip trembles underneath his own, and her entrance clenches around his tongue.

He gets his lips near enough to the edge of the vibrator to suck at her while they move it in slow circles. Her grip shifts from his ear back into his hair.

The second time she comes, she calls his name. He’s so hard by then that he can’t help but pull one hand away to stroke at himself. Not enough to come. Just enough to tease himself a bit more, as he glances up at Selene – who still looks good, and isn’t trying to move the vibrator away yet – and goes for the third charm.

They get all the way up to five before Selene’s hand pulls the vibrator away, dropping it onto the bedspread beside her. Deceit feels like he’s on fire as she lets out a broken moan. Panting and glistening with sweat, her curls sticking to her cheeks, her thighs shaking as he gives her a few more tentative strokes with his tongue, and then finally pulls back.

His mouth feels little like her just tried to swallow a beehive, thanks to the vibrator, but it’s a pleasant sort of tingling exhaustion.

Selene’s chest heaves as she looks at him, dazed and incapable of doing much more than flopping two hands at him, with six raised fingers.

Six…?

Oh. He must’ve missed one somewhere.

With a breath of his own, he wipes his chin, and crawls back up the bed towards her. His jaw is tired and his tongue feels like it might revolt, to the point where he doesn’t even want to kiss her right now – which is almost unheard of – but his lower body is practically begging for attention by now. Selene’s thighs are slick. When he pulls her into his arms he’s not really planning to slide his cock between them, but when he does he can’t quite stifle his gasp, or the first, reflexive rocking of his hips.

He spreads a hand over her stomach, and spoons up behind her.

“This okay?” he asks, voice low and whispering against her ear.

She pats at his arm.

“Mmhmm,” she manages.

It feels so good, he finds himself very, _very_ glad, as he moves between her thighs. Sliding through the excess lube and her wetness, snug up near her centre, but not actually penetrating her. She’s warm enough that it feels like it, anyway, and the clumsy fervency has its own appeal. After a few minutes she manages to tighten her thighs, just a little, and reaches one hand down to stroke him on an inward thrust. The press of her fingers, on top of everything else, is enough to send him over, too, as he presses a kiss into the back of her shoulder.

For a long moment afterwards, then, there’s just the sounds of their heavy breathes, and the heavy scent of sex in the air.

Then Selene rolls over.

“You turned me to jelly,” she accuses. Or at least, he _thinks_ that’s what she’s said.

Deceit presses a kiss to her forehead. Not much of one – he’s too tired for _much_ of one – but it’s still a kiss.

“Yeah,” he concedes, in a sigh.

Somehow, Selene doesn’t seem too upset with him over it.

“You’re ridiculous,” she just tells him, instead. He wraps his arms around her, letting a little more of his possessiveness out as he pulls her closer. Limp and relaxed. They should probably get cleaned up, but he highly doubts they’re going to be able to do that in a hurry. Oh, what a shame, they might have to take a bath together. How terrible.

He nuzzles her hair, and lets himself bask in the feelings. Sated, safe, and good.

“Just wait until I tell Des,” he manages to murmur, after a few more minutes go by.

Selene musters up the energy for a groan.


	34. Chapter 34

A loud, over dramatic groan echoes through Selenes bedroom. Sunlight is streaming in through the open window curtains, and she can see the trees outside blowing in the breeze just out of her reach.

“Is something wrong?” Fear asks from where they are laying beside her, reading through yet another book on childcare.

“Yes,” Selene says. “It’s a beautiful day outside, I’m bored, and I want to go work in the garden.”

Fear turns the page without looking up. “You are under doctors orders to stay in bed.”

“Well they’re a stupid doctor,” Selene grumbles. “There are plenty of studies showing that being active during pregnancy is healthier for the baby, and it helps cut down on future health risks for the mother.”

“When the mother is only carrying one baby, perhaps. You, however, are carrying twins. It’s a larger strain on your body and your bones, and moving too much will both exhaust you and damage your back.”

Selene lets out another groan and kicks the covers off of herself before turning to get out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Fear asks.

“To the bathroom. Since I have two kids putting ‘extra strain’ on my bladder and all.”

Fear nods, attention returning to their book. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m perfectly capable of using the restroom myself,” Selene sighs, taking a sharp right down the hall.

Fear yells loudly “The bathroom is the other way!”

“I never said _which_ bathroom I was using!” Selene shoots back.

Fear exits the room quickly, catching Selene trying to climb down the stairs with one hand on the guardrail and the other on top of her swollen stomach. She is already panting heavily, short of breath just from trying to rush to the stairway. It is her third trimester already, and the further along her pregnancy develops, the more restless and rebellious she becomes. Her sleeping patterns have become irregular. With only brief naps during the day and flaring heartburn keeping her up at night, she sleeps almost as little as Fear does.

“If you think I will not pick you up just because you are with child, you are sorely mistaken,” Fear warns, taking one of Selenes hands in theirs and trying to help her back up the few steps she has already taken.

“Don’t you dare,” Selene gripes. “I’ll eat you if you try to carry me, I swear. I’m eating for three now, I could do it.”

Fear raises a teasing eyebrow, mouth quirking up at the ends. “I dare say Des will be upset he missed the opportunity for that one.”

“Yeah yeah…”Selene sighs “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so snappish. I’m hungry, and restless, and tired of not being able to move the way I want to. None of which are an excuse really, and so I want to apologize. I know you’re just trying to help.”

“I accept your apology,” Fear says even as Selene plants her feet firmly on the stairs and looks up at them expectantly. 

They let out a heavy sigh.

“Maybe the couch will be acceptable for an hour or so.”

Selenes face lights up as Fear helps her get down the stairs, excited for _any_ change of scenery after four days stuck upstairs. Being doted on is vastly overrated, really.

Still, Fear is Fear, and Selene has to sit patiently on the couch while they push over an ottoman to help elevate her feet and carry over too many blankets and look through the television guide for something appropriate for children, because they _might_ be able to hear it through her stomach.

It’s sweet. Selene knows its sweet, and she knows this is one of Fears ways of showing affection, but it’s been going on for nearly seven months now and she is tired just _watching_ them.

Thankfully Deceit enters through the front door, a large pink box in hand as he kicks off his shoes.

“I’m back! I brought food!” He announces before noticing that Selene and Fear are in the living room already. He frowns at Fear as he moves towards Selene “Shouldn’t she be in bed?”

“Not you too.” Selene groans. “Did you get what I asked for?”

“Yep,” Deceit grins. “Two jalapeno donuts, fresh from the back.”

Selene smiles broadly as Deceit hands them over along with a small stack of napkins. Fear grimaces before taking one of their own strawberry glazed from the box. “That is a sugar coated jalapeno popper,” They point out.

“It’s delicious is what it is,” Selene argues after taking her first bite. Sweet, sweet cravings. “Heat plus sweet cream cheese in deep fried dough. Exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“It’s where your heartburn is coming from.”

“Take it up with the twins,” Selene shrugs. “They’re the ones demanding it. It’s good, you know? Cravings for spicy food mean they’ll be born with hair.”

“Really?” Deceit asks, plopping down next to her on the couch.

“No,” Fear dismisses. “It is an old wives tale.”

“It’s _true!_ ” Selene argues. “Do you know how many babies I delivered with the clan? All the ones whose mothers craved spicy food were born with lots of hair. Straight from the doctors mouth.”

“Which doctor?” Fear posits.

“Fine, straight from the _healers_ mouth. Picky picky. Alaris would back me up on this. Alaris would let me _walk around_ , too.”

“No he wouldn’t.” Fear and Deceit announce in unison.

Selene blinks before narrowing her eyes . “What did you do?”

“Well, after you failed to tell us that your mother had health issues with her own pregnancy, I called him up to see if there were any other family histories we should be worried about.”

“You _called_ Alaris?”

“Of course I did,” Fear says. “They’ll be his nieces or nephews. He asked us to keep him updated when we all went to visit your clan.”

“Nona and Gran-Gran want to come visit us by the way,” Deceit adds “But they said they’ll wait until after the twins are born, at least.”

“Does anyone else know I’m pregnant that I should worry about?”

“Mm…I think that’s it,” Deceit mumbles around a mango filled donut.

“Lovely,” Selene sighs, taking another bite out of her own jalapeno donut.

The rest of the afternoon is passed arguing over what to watch until Selene and Deceit manage to convince Fear that the twins can’t actually _see_ the skeletons and gruesome things in Bones, and Deceit manages to wrestle the remote away long enough to get it on the television. Fear relents, finally, as the three settle in to watch the first episode. Selene falls asleep against Deceit by the middle of the second one, waking after an hour or so to yet another heartburn flare up. Fear is ready with a glass of milk and an 'I told you so’ in their eyes but not on their tongue, and Selene gratefully accepts the drink.

Then Kel is home from school with Des and Dirthamen, bouncing around excitedly about an upcoming field trip as she says hello to each parent and then to the twins in Selenes stomach.

Fear sends her upstairs to wash up and unpack her homework as Dirthamen approaches a still groggy Selene and gives her a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Welcome home,” She yawns.

“Thank you,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Selene lets out another groan and tries to bury her head beneath the blankets while Deceit laughs beside her.

–

Three days.

Three _whole_ days.

They were supposed to be born _three whole days_ ago.

Ordinarily, Selene would be pacing. Walking back and forth and doing whatever she could to distract herself and focus on something other than the pain radiating throughout her body right now. But of course, she’s still confined to bed-rest, and (much to her chagrin) her body refuses to walk farther than the few feet it takes to get from Dirthamens bed into his bathroom. Even that walk is starting to make her short of breath these days. They’ve done a temporary room switch, after Selenes swollen feet gave out from under her on her way to the hall bathroom a few weeks ago. Dirthamen has been spending most nights sleeping beside her anyways.

He is asleep beside her now, while she stares at the ceiling and wishes she could sleep. Wishes she could even cuddle with him properly, but her body temperature is higher than usual and everything feels unbearably hot, even with the fall weather moving in. Her insides feel like they are on fire and everything in her lower half is sore. She can only sleep on her side, holding Dirthamens hand with a few inches between them to allow the air to partially cool.

She is thankful that the twins are healthy. She is thankful that she is _able_ to do this, and she is thankful she has her partners to help her.

But she still misses her body. Misses being self-sufficient, and _not_ having to pee every half hour at night.

She sighs, pulling her hand out of his as she moves to do just that. But as she places her feet on the floor, something in her stomach _pulls_.

She nearly falls off the side of the bed, catching herself by the sheets as the pain rolls through her and she cries out. Dirthamen is up in a flash, asking if she is ok, what happened, what can he do to help.

Selene tries to dismiss it, to tell him she is fine and he should go back to sleep, but when she puts her other hand down on the bed, it feels decidedly…wet. She freezes at the unpleasant sensation, glancing down at the space where her water seems to have broken.

Dirthamen, to his credit, does not seem nearly as put off by the event as Selene feels.

“I will get the bags,” he says calmly before calling out for the others.

–

  
Fear drives, with Des in the passenger seat. Kel is alone in the back row of the minivan, dozing in and out at the late hour while Selene sits in between Deceit and Dirthamen, who keep repeating various mantras from the birthing classes and who Selene reminds herself she loves very much as they get into one that tells her to push.

She is _very_ certain she is not ready for that step yet.

They arrive at the hospital, and Des opens the door with a wheelchair in hand that the others help her into while Fear parks the car with Kel, and Dirthamen fills out the necessary paperwork. A nurse comes by before long to show them all to Selenes room, and begins asking the others various questions about the events leading up to her water breaking. Selene interrupts to answer the questions, as well as give them the timing between her contractions.

The nurse smiles at her, glancing at Kel. “Long time mom?”

“Sure,” Selene says, not at all in the mood to explain their family to a stranger right now.

“She was a healer,” Des chimes in anyways. “So she knows what you’re looking for.”

“Oh,” Says the nurse with a bit less of a smile now. “You’re Dalish? That’s not…quite the same as a doctor. Lot of 'home remedies’, and no real medical school you know-”

“And yet _I_ know that you should be sending for the anesthesiologist by now, even without medical school,” Selene snaps. “So if you could save your racist rant until after I’m too drugged to care and my daughter is out of the room, that’d be great.”

Des bites down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing while Deceit and Dirthamen stare awkwardly at the nurse leaving as quickly as they can manage. Fear finishes their inspection of the room, then heads out (supposedly) for ice chips. Selene sighs and looks over at Kel. “You shouldn’t be rude to nurses,” She informs her daughter. “They work very hard and should be treated with respect.”

“So this one of those 'as I say not as I do’ moments?” Kel checks.

“Exactly,” Selene smiles. “But if someone is being disrespectful to you, it’s perfectly alright to stand up for yourself.”

Kel nods, legs swinging from where she is sitting in the only chair.

Fear returns before long with a Styrofoam pail filled with ice chips and four folding chairs (Selene doesn’t bother asking where they found them). Their doctor comes in not long after that, checking on Selenes vitals while Dirthamen takes Kel to see what is in the vending machines on this floor.

Their doctor frowns, stethoscope pressed beneath the hospital gown Selene has changed into.

“How are you feeling?” She asks.

“Like I have two grown babies rolling around my stomach,” Selene jokes.

“Any chest pain?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve had heartburn for months.”

“Shortness of breath?”

“Yes, a little. Is something wrong?”

The doctor frowns, and Fear stands up from their seat.

“It’s probably nothing,” She tells the room, “Just a bit of an abnormality in the heartbeat. To be safe, I’m going to call for an echocardiogram. You all just sit tight.”

“Thank you,” Selene says quietly as a chill runs down her spine.

A heart abnormality.

Her mother had had that, too.   
It had killed her, in fact.

Selene doesn’t realize she is shaking until three bodies are standing over her, and she hears someone call her name. It sounds like it’s coming through a layer of water, like they’re talking to someone else.

But she looks up all the same.

“You’re going to be fine,” Des says assuredly. “They’re going to do an echo, and it’ll be fine and we’ll all laugh about it later when we’re telling the twins the story of how they were born.”

Selene nods, and swallows. Her throat feels dry, and Fear obligingly feeds her a spoonful of ice chips while Selene stares at the closed window, numb and detached from her body.

It’s fine. It’ll probably be fine. Dhaveira passed several years later, so even if this is the same thing….even if it’s the same, she’ll still get to see the twins to school, at least. Still get to see most of Kels childhood.

It’s not the end, not yet.

–

Des doesn’t think he’s ever been this terrified of anything.

Birthdays are supposed to be fun, and happy, and they should all be waiting around anxious to see their children and welcome them into the world and their family. Not waiting to see if Selenes heart is healthy or not.

If it’s not…

What would they even _do_?

Des doesn’t have much time to consider the possibilities, thankfully. A nurse and technician enter the room with the cart, and he and Deceit move their chairs to allow them to set up next to Selenes bed. They spread the translucent goo over her chest, the transducer firmly against her skin while they stare at the screen in front of them.

 _Don’t stare at the screen,_ he thinks at them. _She is right there, Selene is a real person not an image on a screen, look at_ _ **her**_.

The two hospital workers point at a few spots on the screen, whispering quietly to each other while Deceit and Fear each take one of Des’s hands in their own, Fear holding Selenes in their other.

“Your doctor will be in shortly with your results,” The new nurse tells them before writing her own name on the dry erase board and helping the technician push the cart back out of the room.

The whole room seems to let out a collective breath when they leave.

  
  


“Is that good then?”

“If it were good, they would have said she was fine.”

“They’re just not the ones who are supposed to interpret the results-”

“The doctor only has to tell us if it is _bad_ news, something is wrong. I’m going to go track them down and find out-”

“Don’t do that, you’ll only aggravate them-”

“Good, I am _aggravated_ -”

“Is everything alright?” Dirthamen interrupts, Kel standing beside him and chewing on a candy bar.

A pained expression crosses briefly over Selenes face before she offers Kel a smile. “What’re you eating?”

“Chocolate,” Kel grins.

“Ooh, that sounds good,” Selene says as she waves for Kel to come over by the bed. “And you’re getting it so late at night? Your papa is _spoiling_ you.” 

“Yeah, he told me I have to be really good. D'you want some?”

“No thank you,” Selene smiles, looking up at Des and then to Dirthamen pointedly before resuming her conversation with Kel.

Well.

That is probably his cue.

Des takes Dirthamen to the side, explains that the doctor heard something abnormal, about the echo, about Dhaveira. Dirthamen is very pale by the time Des is done explaining. He feels something like guilt, heavy in his chest. But it would be worse, if something happened and it were a surprise.

The doctor enters then, clipboard in hand and a solemn expression on her face. Deceit opts to take Kel out this time, ostensibly to look for some milk to go with the chocolate bar.

“You have what we call peripartum cardiomyopathy,” The doctor explains. “We’re not entirely sure which class you have yet, but your EF is dangerously low. What’s happening essentially, is your heart is pumping as fast as it can, but it’s not pumping out enough blood to actually support your body the way it’s supposed to. Some of the extra fluid is beginning to build up in your lungs, which is likely causing some of your fatigue and shortness of breath. The added strain of the pregnancy has aggravated what was probably a genetic predisposition, given your family history. We’re going to do everything we can to help you through this, and there are medications and treatments we can give you to help manage moving forward. For now, I’d like to take a blood sample to test for any additional problems and make sure we aren’t missing anything. Alright?”

_No,_ Des thinks, _This is not alright. Nothing about this is alright._

But Selene nods, her eyes in that far away haze she gets when she’s overly stressed and seems to lift right out of her body. Not that he can blame her by any means.

“What does it mean for the twins?” Selene asks quietly.

“They’re not in danger from this,” The doctor assures her. “They’re fully developed, and should be able to survive outside of the womb. I would recommend against a natural birth, though. Our safest option now is a cesarean section, but I’ll need to have your blood results back before I can schedule you for one.”

Selene nods numbly, moving to sign a waiver before Fear steps in to read it over first.

It’s good that someone here is still functioning.

But she’ll be fine, right?

It’s _Selene_. Selene, who survived years with Elrogathe. Selene, who ran away with him in the middle of the night. Selene, who killed a carta member without hesitation for his sake. Selene, who threw her life away to save him. Selene, who has survived every curve ball Dirthamens family has thrown at them so far.

There’s no way this could be how she ends. She is too young and too healthy and has too much left to do. She has survived too much to die _now_.

The doctor leaves with the signed waiver, and Fear explains that even if they do the cesarean section, there is a possibility the surgery could cause Selenes heart to give out. But it _is_ the safest option this late into the pregnancy. 

Dirthamen practically falls into his chair, fingers rubbing frantically at the edges of his shirt. Des can hear Selene quietly counting the in and out of his breaths from her bed. They all push their chairs closer to the her, a sense of impending dread hanging heavy in the room.

_This isn’t what it’s supposed to be like,_ Des thinks again.

Deceit returns before long with Kel, and Fear takes him aside to explain the situation. The news doesn’t go over well, from what Des can hear. Deceit crawls into bed beside Selene, careful not to tug on her IV or various wires. Kel crawls in on her other side, unsure of everything going on, but tired. It’s still well past her bedtime, and no one can bring themselves to take her out of the room again. She’s asleep again in a few minutes, anyways. 

Everyone is waiting for someone else to speak up first. To find some way of putting what’s happening into words, to make it less scary somehow.

But it _is_ scary.

Selene finally turns the TV on, flipping through the channels until she finds one showing late night music videos. She grins, nudging Deceit as one of Labyrinths videos comes on. “Who let you wear that coat? _Honestly_.”

“It was very in that year,” Deceit shoots back, thankful for anything else to talk about. “Leather is always in style.”

“Not for a _trench._ ” Des adds.

“Excuse you, I make a beautiful silhouette.”

“Like a….drumstick, maybe?” Selene muses.

“Yeah,” Des laughs. “Skinny up top with that flare out at the bottom.”

Selene laughs too, and before long Deceit, Dirthamen, and even Fear join in. Not laughing at anything in particular, Des supposes, nearly so much as at the relief that for even just a little bit longer things might be ok. 

Just a little bit longer to still be _them_ , no matter what comes next.

It takes another two hours before the blood test results are in, Selenes contractions thankfully still far enough apart that there’s no pressing need yet.

“There’s no sign of infection,” The doctor informs them “And your other organs all seem to be perfectly healthy given your current condition. We’d like to go ahead with the cesarean section. I can have you in a surgical room in about twenty minutes.”

“That soon?” Dirthamen asks.

“The longer we put it off, the more risk there is,” The doctor explains.

Selene nods. “Twenty minutes is fine.”

After that it is mostly a rush to get everything straightened up. Arguments with the staff over who should be in the room with her given the limited space and their 'unique’ relationship. Fear opts to go in with Selene, more comfortable being able to see what’s happening as it is happening. Des is unwilling to part from Selene after everything that’s happened, so he takes up the second slot they’ve been allowed, and Dirthamen and Deceit agree to wait in the room where Kel is still sleeping.

Des and Fear are both given operating robes, masks, and hats to stick their hair into. They follow as Selene is wheeled into the prepped room. It’s overly clean, several people working to prepare instruments along the wall. Selene is propped up carefully on the operating table, and Fear and Des each hold a hand as the epidural is inserted into the base of her spine. They help to lie her down after that, and Des brushes a stray hair out of her face while the doctors set up a small curtain just below her chest. To keep them from actually seeing what Selene looks like with her stomach carved open, Des assumes.

Well, he certainly won’t complain about it.

Selenes eyes get hazy and heavy, and the doctor begins the procedure with Des and Fear each sitting on one side of her. Des is trying to tell her a story from when they were younger, to keep her distracted and calm but he keeps losing his place every time the vital monitor beeps. After what feels like only a moment, there is a loud wailing sound behind him, and a small elf with dark hair is lifted from behind the curtain and taken over to a sink for cleaning.

Des can’t stop staring at them. Neither can Fear, if he can trust his peripheral vision.

There is a baby. A brand new, made from Selene and one of them, baby.

And he is so distracted by this wonderful, breathtaking fact, the he almost doesn’t notice that the beeping has stopped.

Fear has noticed, though.

They are calling for a doctor, drawing attention to the fact that Selenes heart has _stopped_.

It was beating a moment ago, just a _moment_ ago. The doctor is still taking out the second child, their head also covered in dark hair with a streak of white, _her_ unmistakable white in his hair. She hands their baby to one of the assistants who goes to wash him off, next to the one who is still holding his brother, unsure where to put him now. With Fear calling for help and Selene’s heart _not beating_ and Des can’t raise a child without her, that’s absurd. Selene is the mom, the children need a mom, they need her, they are _her_ children. She can’t just go and-and-and leave them all behind like that. It’s not fair, it’s not _fair!_

The doctor moves Des out of the way, pushing harshly down on Selenes chest three times before stepping back as another sends electrical shocks through her. Push again, shock again. Then again. And Again. Another one approaches with a shot of what he thinks he hears them describe as adrenaline, shot directly into her as they pump her chest again, and give her another shock and no no no, she can’t be dead, she can’t be _gone_.

She can’t have left him.

Left all of them.

She wouldn’t, she would never.

There is a loud gasping sound as Selene takes a deep breath.

The monitor beeps again.

Not a sound Des ever thought he’d be glad to hear.

The doctor moves away then, going to sew her back up and discussing the possibility of a pacemaker or some sort of heart monitor for Selene moving forward, but he is only half listening because Selene is _alive_ and someone is handing him a baby, his baby, his son. Even Fear is caught up, choking on tears as a little boy with white in his hair blinks up at them, mouth opening and closing as the doctors give them all a moment. Des holds his own out first ( _Darevas_ , the most suiting of the list they decide), and then Fear brings over Felasel and Selene cries and cries and smiles through all of it.   
  


The Doctors have to wheel her to recovery, where she’ll have to wait for a few hours with their sons and the two of them. Des hands Darevas to Selene, who makes mouth shapes back at him and smiles more, so much more, and for a moment he remembers just how quickly all of this was almost taken from him.

Fear hands Felasel to Des, and goes off to tell the rest of the family what is happening, that they are all ok and should rest while they can. Des follows alongside Selene straight to recovery, collapsing in a chair next to the bed they lay her out on.

“So,” He jokes. “ _I’m_ the drama queen of the group, hm?”

Selene snorts. “Yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to make such a scene in there.”

“Well, I’ll forgive you, but you’ll have to discuss that whole 'dying’ thing with Fear. I think you may have taken it a little farther than they’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, but you were fine, right?”

“Of course I was,” Des tuts “I knew you wouldn’t die like that. Far too stubborn. Besides, if you died you’d have to go be with your father or something, and I _know_ you’d rather be here.”

“That’s fair.” Selene smiles. They switch babies, Des taking Darevas while Selene takes Felasel in her arms.

Felasel blinks, mouth and eyes opening wide experimentally before closing tightly. Selene laughs, and the corners of his mouth quirk in response just as Fear steps back into the room.

“They’re going to sleep in the room with Kel,” Fear informs them. “They’re both exhausted, and there’s not enough room for all of us in here.”

“That’s alright,” Selene says. “Thank you, Fear.”

Fear nods, slowly. Still hesitant, still worried after seeing her die on the operating table. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. Like I was cut open.”

“How is your chest?”

Selenes smile fades just a little, in her eyes. “It hurts. My whole chest is bruised though, so it’s probably nothing.”

Fear seems less convinced, but a baby in their arms and any further concerns die on their lips. Selene and the twins all fall asleep before long, leaving Des and Fear together.

“I love you, you know.” Des tells them.

  
Fear blinks. “You don’t have to-”

“I do,” Des argues, one hand moving across Selene to take theirs. “I don’t tell you enough. I was a wreck in there. You saved her life. You save all of us, all the time. In little ways that we don’t always thank you for enough. And I don’t tell you I love you enough, especially as your husband.”

“For health benefits,” Fear points out quietly.

“I wouldn’t have married you just for health insurance,” Des insists. “I married you because I love you. I don’t say it out loud enough, and I’m going to fix that. Maybe I’ll paint it on your wall? A sky writer might be nice as an general announcement to the city, less permanent though…”  
  
Fear laughs, and shakes their head fondly. “Alright, alright. Thank you. I love you too, Des.”

Des grins, as Selene rests safely next to him, Fear smiles back at him, and with his son safely in his arms.

Yes.

Life is good again.


	35. Chapter 35

It is when Selene has first started to be too impeded by her pregnancy to move around much, that Dirthamen gets the idea.

Selene makes a passing comment about all of them fussing in a manner that would put professional nurses to shame. She has been managing things well, in Dirthamen’s opinion, but it is also clearly frustrating for her to endure the changes and discomforts impacting her body. Selene is someone who likes to move. And even though books have been working well as a distraction, even she has limitations on how long she can spend simply reading things. Particularly as finding comfortable positions becomes more difficult.

Cheering up seems in order. They are all in agreement on that, and they all make different efforts at it. Des acquires foods and music which Selene enjoys. Deceit makes a point of sitting with her and chatting, whenever Selene seems apt to welcome it. Fear sets up a small television in her room, though it mainly only plays ‘ambient sounds’ while depicting serene landscapes. Kel brings her mother interesting leaves and rocks and drawings of interesting leaves and rocks. And Dirthamen does his best to facilitate various requests, while devising a plan of his own.

He does not know if it will work, but, he has come to trust that Selene will inform him if she dislikes his endeavour.

There is a new version of Beauty and the Beast playing in the local cinema. Kel wishes to go and see it, so Des decides to take her on Friday. Which is a good opportunity, as the costume Dirthamen had ordered is ready by then. He stops and picks it up, and leaves it in the car for an hour while Kel happily recounts her day. Deceit has triumphantly acquired more of the foam pillows which do the best job of supporting Selene’s back; Dirthamen requests that he be the one to present them to her.

“Alright,” Deceit concedes. “Consider it thanks for stopping Fear’s baby-proofing madness.”

“I did not stop it. I have only stemmed the tide,” Dirthamen points out. And then, mainly by redirecting Fear into researching the legalities of how to ensure that Dirthamen’s family cannot make any potential claim on the twins, should it ever come to light that they are genetically related to him. None of them have any desire to verify the twins’ genetic parentage, but given the nature of Dirthamen’s family, extra precautions stand to be taken.

“More than anyone else managed,” Deceit insists.

He even goes so far as to take Fear out to dinner, while Des and Kel head off to their movie. Which is good; Fear has been getting increasingly wound-up, too, to the point of bickering with Selene and more frequently medicating themselves.

Pregnancy is stressful.

Dirthamen waits until the driveway is clear before venturing back out to retrieve his costume. Selene had welcomed Kel home, but had fallen asleep shortly before Dirthamen got in. She is still resting when he gets back inside. He proceeds quietly to his room to change, hanging up the day’s clothes once he has finished, and smoothing his hands down over his outfit’s skirt.

There is a hat, but he cannot get it to sit properly or stay on his head. So, after a moment, he discards it.

Hopefully the costume will still be pleasing without it. The stockings are tighter than he is accustomed to, and the choker is not as durable-feeling as the ones he generally wears in performances. The rest of the materials are a high quality, though, and his midriff seems to be well-displayed by the cut of the pieces.

Once he is satisfied that everything has been well-fitted, he picks up the new pillows, and heads into Selene’s room.

She has woken up, it seems. And rolled so that her back is towards him, as she reads one of the scientific magazines which Des acquired for her the other day.

“Did Des remember to take the little punch-card thing for the movie?” she asks. “I think we have enough for a free popcorn by now…”

“I do not know,” Dirthamen admits, as he heads over to the bed. He reaches over Selene to place the pillows in front of her. She makes a pleased sound, and pats at one.

“Oh! You got the…”

Her happy exclamation trails off as she seems to notice something about him in her peripheral vision. Dirthamen leans back, as she rolls over to look at him. He fidgets with the skirt of his nurse’s outfit, demonstratively. Knees spread, face heating slightly as Selene rakes him over with her gaze. He should probably say something, he thinks. He should have asked Des for a line before he left.

“Nurse Dirthamen, at your service,” he ventures, after a moment.

Selene’s magazine catches on fire.

Ah.

That would appear to be a weakness in the anti-fire wards in the room. Dirthamen makes a mental note of it, as he reaches out and swiftly pulls the magazine away, and casts a freezing spell on it. It does not take, entirely, but it curtails the damage enough for him to climb back off of the bed and carry the magazine into the bathroom across the hall. Dousing it in the sink works better, though the magazine itself does not appear to be salvageable.

He will have to ask Selene if she was enjoying it. If so, they can always get her another copy.

When he gets back into the room, the air is hot, but nothing else has caught flame. Which is as it should be. Dirthamen knows there are preventions to keep most of the furnishings from catching fire, and many of the books as well, but no one had thought to add magazines to the list. They are not usually bedroom reading. Fear will be displeased at the oversight.

Selene is sitting up. She looks him over, and licks her lips.

“You… you’re dressed as a _sexy nurse,”_ she notes.

Dirthamen nods in confirmation.

“I think I am supposed to make jokes about injections, that are euphemisms for my penis?” he says. “But mostly I intend to spend the evening looking after you. Is there anything you would like? A bath, or a massage, or-“

Selene gets up off of the bed, and moves over towards him. She takes him determinedly by the hand, and pulls him back over to the mattress with her, and then pushes him down onto it. Pregnancy may have impeded her navigational skills, and given her no end of discomfort – but it has not reduced the strength of her grip any.

“I want to see all the _details_ on this costume of yours, _Nurse_ Dirthamen,” she declares, with a familiar gleam in her eyes.

Oh.

Well.

“We can do that,” Dirthamen agrees.

It _is_ an entertaining bedroom activity, after all. 


	36. Chapter 36

Dirthamen had not been certain which colour of dress Selene would prefer.

He knew which style to procure. He had seen her admiring this dress, and others like it, in shop windows and catalogues on several occasions. Des had confirmed that she was a ‘sucker for pretty airy dresses’, but when Dirthamen had inquired about colour, had only shrugged and declared that Selene was not picky on that front.

Which, while reducing the odds of Dirthamen failing very badly on that front, had still not helped him decide which colour to select.

The gift was not intended to match a specific date, at least. It was a ‘just because’ gift, which was a concept that Deceit and Fear had introduced him to, and to which Dirthamen had become very attached. That meant, at least, that he had time to observe Selene’s colour choices and preferences, and to even ask her what sorts she might prefer. But even this proved ultimately unhelpful.

“Favourite colour?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in a gesture she often adopted when she had just been roused from a distraction. “Um… it depends on what the category is.”

Dirthamen had worried that defining the category would ruin the surprise. Better to err on the side of secrecy, he determined.

“Just in general,” he asked.

“Oh. Well… green? Or, well, no. Blue? It has to be the right shade, though… or actually I’ve been getting a lot of yellow things lately, so maybe it’s changed…?”

Dirthamen blinked.

Selene shrugged.

“I think it’d be easier to say which colours I _disliked,_ to be honest,” she admitted.

Which proved to be an interesting list in and of itself, but still had only limited utility for his task.

After that failure, he had approached Deceit. Primarily because Deceit was a lot more adept at noticing subtle preferences in people, and apart from Des, would be the most likely to know what Selene might like best - without giving away the surprise, at least.

Deceit had just shrugged, however. And upon seeing some of Dirthamen’s mild distress, had made a different suggestion.

“Why don’t you just get her one in each colour?” they suggested.

It was a good suggestion, in fact. If Selene disliked any of the colours, she could easily return them for store credit. And if she enjoyed them all, then she would have _several_ dresses of a make and style that was to her preference. Dirthamen determined that this idea was the best suggestion so far. He retrieved Selene’s measurements from Fear, and made his way to the boutique near to Selene’s favourite coffee shop. The one which he had caught her looking into the most often.

The dress, as it happened, came in four colours. Dirthamen acquired one of each, and at the encouragement of the helpful sales associate, also procured several complimentary belts. The associate also mentioned that the jewellery shop at the end of the mall complex had several pieces which would look ‘absolutely wonderful’ with the dresses, but Dirthamen had noticed that Selene tended to become anxious over receiving jewellery. He had not yet mastered the right approach for that sort of gift.

Upon consideration, however, he did stop and procure a set of earrings for Des. Dirthamen was never certain how serious Des was when he declared himself jealous of other people’s presents, but it was fairly easy to avoid the possibility of genuine distress by providing ‘just because’ gifts for him as well.

When he got home, in fact, Selene was out acquiring groceries. So Des received his gift first. The earrings went well with his eyes, and made his face light up.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, as he put them in, and then drew Dirthamen down to the couch. He draped himself in his lap.

“Just because,” Dirthamen replied, happily.

Des made an odd noise, and then beamed, and kissed him a great deal.

When Selene returned from shopping, however, he hopped up out of Dirthamen’s lap, and went to greet her by exclaiming that he was being kept in the custom that he deserved. Dirthamen also went to greet Selene, but did so by taking the grocery bags from her first.

She looked at Des, and then sighed.

“Did you wheedle Dirthamen for jewellery?” she asked. “Des, that’s - are those _white gold?”_

“Yes, and they look amazing on me,” Des replied. “And I didn’t coerce anyone to get them, Dirthamen got them for me all on his own, _just because.”_

“Dirthamen got you white gold earrings _just because?”_ Selene asked, and then mustered up another sigh, before finally relenting. Dirthamen would guess that Des was pouting, judging by the way she then conceded that the earrings looked _very_ pretty and suited him _very much,_ and agreed to help him find something to wear with them when they went out for dinner that evening, because Des wanted to go out for dinner all of a sudden, and Selene made only a cursory effort at reminding him that she had just gone shopping for the ingredients to cook at home.

Dirthamen found nothing in the groceries that would not keep for another day, at least.

He was putting the last of them away when she sought him out again.

“Feeling sentimental?” she asked, fondly.

“They were very… _Des_ earrings,” Dirthamen asserted.

Selene hummed, and moved in to claim a kiss for herself.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” she agreed. “I guess I won’t be jealous.”

Her tone was light.

Nevertheless, Dirthamen hastened to clarify.

“That would be unnecessary. Your gift is still in the sitting room,” he explained.

Selene paused, and then sagged against him.

“Oh, no, you _didn’t,”_ she said. “Earrings for me, too?”

“No,” Dirthamen assured her. “Your gift is different. It is also ‘just because’, however. If you dislike anything, you can return it - but only for store credit, I am afraid.”

Selene grumbled something about Fear. Most likely because Fear was the one who suggested that they buy her gifts from shops that only offered return credit, to curtail her habit of returning ‘frivolities’ and then refunding the money spent on them. Not that that had happened _many_ times, and she had not even suggested it for a long while, but still.

“…You didn’t have to,” she finally said, with her arms still around him. Dirthamen pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I wanted to,” he explained. “I hope you like them.”

“ _Them?”_

Selene looks concerned - but also, he thinks, perhaps a bit excited. A bit curious and a little flustered, as he nods, and then leads her into the living room. The boxes are still sitting where he left them, next to the coffee table. Des had not even bothered to ask about them. Perhaps he had already figured it out, or simply been content to occupy himself with his earrings. He has gone off again, which means that Dirthamen and Selene are alone as she pulls open the large, off-white bag, and then immediately shuts it again.

 _“Dirthamen!”_ she hisses.

He blinks.

“Yes?”

“These boxes say _Mirena_ on them!”

“Yes,” he confirms. “That is the name of the boutique where they are from.”

Selene opens her mouth, and then closes it again. And then, oddly, she make a noise not unlike the one which Des had made, when Dirthamen informed him that the earrings were a frivolous gift. She clasps a hand over her mouth, however, and then pats at the bag as if she is trying to straighten some of the top wrinkles out of it.

“ _Dirthamen,”_ she says. “Everything in that shop is expensive! There are scarves that cost _thousands of dollars_ in there!”

He hesitates. He had not been aware that Selene was paying keen attention to the particulars of pricing; particularly given that he had never seen her go inside. He had been hoping she would not be bothered about the price, but apparently, he had underestimated her observational skills.

Perhaps he should have placed them in different boxes?

“They were having a sale?” he suggests.

Selene does not look convinced.

“We have to take them back,” she decides. “I don’t even need new clothes, and whatever is in here is probably much too expensive, especially since it’s not even like I’d need something fancy for job interviews or anything like that-”

“You may return whatever you like,” Dirthamen assures her. “But only for store credit.”

Selene purses her lips.

He hesitates.

“You do not like it?” he wonders.

The effect is surprisingly immediate. At once her eyes widen, and then her countenance softens. She shakes her head, hurriedly, and Dirthamen is gratified to find himself being hugged again. Her hands frame his face, and she presses a kiss to his lips.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to… it’s not that I don’t _appreciate_ it, Dirthamen, it’s just that I… worry. About these things.”

“I know,” he replies. “But you do not have to. Fear would never let me spend more than was actually reasonable on frivolities, even if I was inclined to empty my bank account. This is well within my means, and I planned for it responsibly.”

Selene laughs, and shakes her head - though something in her expression makes him think that she is shaking it at herself, rather than at him. He leans forward and steals another kiss, attempting to be physically reassuring, as he enfolds her in a firmer embrace.

“It is just a present for you,” he says.

“Then, thank you. I love it,” Selene replies, with a smile.

It is his turn to chuckle, then. The sound makes her smile widen.

“You are not supposed to say that until you know what the gift is,” he reminds her.

She tilts her head, conceding the point - but her smile does not lessen, and when she turns back towards the large bag, the excitement he had seen in her before begins to build up again. Dirthamen lets her go to open the boxes, and settles into a nearby chair.

Selene pulls out the first box, and gasps when she opens it. She looks pleasantly surprised, even knowing where the boxes are from. The first dress she pulls out is the yellow one. She lifts it up, and examines it carefully, before uncovering the belt wrapped in the bottom of the box as well. There is an interruption in the unwrapping, then, as Selene assures him that yes, she absolutely does _love it,_ and then turns to the next box.

She seems slightly more amused by the green dress. Dirthamen sees her look at the boxes, with a slightly more calculating expression, and then towards him again.

Her lips twitch.

“Did you get me one in _every colour?”_ she asks him.

“I was not certain which you would like best,” he admits.

For the second time that day, Selene suddenly looks very fond of him. It makes his heart metaphorically trip over himself, and he shifts as he becomes somewhat warmer than is customary for him.

“As I said, you can return any-”

“I love them,” Selene insists. “I know all the colours they come in. I couldn’t pick a favourite, either. They’re perfect - I’m keeping all of them.”

Dirthamen’s cheeks heat at her emphatic tone, and he nods, pleased by this success. Selene moves back over towards him, and presses a very sweet kiss to his forehead. It leaves him feeling no less pleasantly flustered.

But then she pulls back with a grin, and a light in her eyes.

“I’m going to go try them on,” she declares.

Then she scoops up the boxes, offers him a wink and giddy little dance-in-place, and is gone.

It does nothing to help reduce the warmth in his face, but, Dirthamen is willing to count the endeavour as a success anyway.


	37. Chapter 37

Fear is in a mood.

A mood which they have been contemplating and examining, allowing to simmer and settle, to drift throughout one day, and then on into the next. They keep one eye on it, so to speak. Emotional self-awareness is a necessity for them. Important for monitoring the effects of their medication and for catching themselves before they end up in unwanted obsessive spirals, or paranoid ones. Or paranoid obsessive ones, which are the worst.

But this is a different kind of mood, and it doesn’t take long for them to recognize it. Or to realize that it’s one they want to indulge. _How_ they want to indulge it takes most of their time, but when they are confident in things, they do.

They start with the children in the morning. The twins are just small, and fairly easy with affection. Felasel blinks at the kiss dropped onto his head, and Darevas happily squirms and lets Fear hold him while they get the table set. It makes it take longer than usual, and then Felasel toddles over and motions for ‘up’, too, and, well. Fear can hardly set out dishes with _both_ arms full. But they enlist Kel’s aid and then reward her with a kiss and hug, too.

She smiles. It’s not that uncommon for Fear to show physical affection to the children, after all. They make a point of it - just enough so that they don’t feel like it’s being withheld.

Selene smiles at them, too, from where she is making breakfast.

“You’re in a cuddly mood,” she observes. Quicker to catch on than Deceit, even. Fear inclines their head, and then comes over and wraps their arms around her from behind. They stand like that for a while. Even helping to flip a few pancakes, before it feels like enough, and they head over to break up a disagreement between the twins before it can escalate.

They catch Dirthamen with a hug on his way out of the shower, and watch some early morning cartoons with Deceit; pressed side-to-side, and warmed by the contact. Deceit catches on quickly and puts an arm around them, and rubs a hand up and down their back until they have to get ready for a recording session.

Des watches them with increasing interest.

“Selene said you’re in a cuddly mood,” he observes, before they leave.

“Hm,” Fear agrees.

Des spreads his arms invitingly. They pat him on the shoulder, but silently decline.

They have plans for that, they think.

Of course, Des pouts about it. When they get back from recording he sets himself up invitingly on the couch, and frowns when Fear settles into their usual chair instead. When dinner rolls around, he wears his ‘kiss the cook’ apron, and loudly muses that it would be nice to have some help at the stove. Fear keeps on reading an article on a new internet virus, while Deceit gets up and goes to help instead.

“What are you making that face for?” Fear hears them ask Des, from the kitchen. Followed by the soft sounds of a few stolen kisses, and some half-hearted grumbling.

After dinner, Des abandons ‘subtlety’ in favour of just sitting down directly in front of Fear’s chair, and leaning back against their legs.

They nudge him.

“Don’t sit on the floor like that, you will get pins and needles.”

Des sighs woefully. But after a few more nudges, he reluctantly gets back up again, and moves to sit on an actual piece of furniture.

“I can’t _believe_ you wore out your cuddly impulses on other people,” he complains. “You didn’t even come find me. Me! Your own spouse! Once in a blue moon this happens and I missed the window!”

Fear turns another page in the book they’re reading.

“Who says I wore them out?” they ask.

Des perks up, like a cat that just heard the fridge opening. He levels them with an assessing look, that once again reminds them that however flighty he can be, Des is also no one’s fool.

“Well if you _haven’t…”_ he begins, moving as if he is about to get up again.

  
Fear stops him with a look.

“…Later,” they say.

Des drums his fingers on the armrest of the sofa. Then he glances to where Kel is doing her homework, not far off. The splashing sounds of the twins getting their bath drift down from upstairs, along with Selene’s voice scolding Darevas to stop turning the tap back on. That child would flood the bathroom if he was given half a chance.

“Later?” Des repeats, after a moment. He drops his vocal tones, and runs a finger slowly across his bottom lip. “What kind of _later?_ A my-room later or a your-room later? Or an ‘everyone into the pool’ later?”

Fear turns another page.

They didn’t actually read it. But sometimes it’s important to cultivate the right effect.

“…My room,” they decide.

Des settles down at that. If anything, even, he goes on his best behaviour, and leaves Fear to their own devices until it’s about nine o’clock. And then he makes a grand show of being tired, talking extensively to whoever will listen about ‘hitting the hay’, until Kel decides he’s trying to passive-aggressively up her bedtime and lodges a formal protest with Selene.

Selene gives them an entreating look.

Fear marks their place in their book, and gets up. They kiss their daughter goodnight, and bid everyone else a pleasant evening. They check on the twins in the nursery, and spend a few minutes more than they meant to just watching the two of them sleep, before finally heading into their room.

Almost as soon as they have the door closed, it opens again. Des crowds them a little too quickly, getting his arms around them and sealing a kiss to their lips. They tweak his ear in reproach, and prod him back again.

“I have to check the security feeds, first,” they say. “Get naked.”

“Always the charmer,” Des quips. But if he meant to criticize, it comes off as somewhat unconvincing, as even then he’s busily pulling his shirt up over his head.

Fear starts unbuttoning their own, as they move over to the household security terminal. There is, of course, a more elaborate setup in the panic room, but most of the day-to-day operations are easily handled from their computer. They check to make sure all the usual alerts are enabled and that the cameras are running, and security lights are all working. Good. They replaced the bulbs last week, so there’s no reason to expect otherwise, but Fear is not a big fan of letting their guard down.

“You’re _teasing_ me,” Des accuses, as he stretches out naked onto Fear’s bed. “Don’t deny it. You’ve probably been getting off on it all day. Stringing your poor, adoring husband along, making me think you were going to leave me _wanting…”_

Fear’s lips twitch.

“Why would I deny it?” they wonder.

Des starts touching himself, at that.

Fear finishes up with the security, and then stands and carefully gets their clothes off. They take off their shirt and fold up their slacks, unwind their footwraps, and toss their underwear into the laundry bin. By the time they are fully undressed, Des is watching them through half-lidded eyes, and stroking his engorged cock.

“Want to watch me come?” he suggests, as he slows his strokes.

Fear pulls out a very large bottle of unscented massage oil, and shakes their head.

Des bites his lip, but after a moment, he takes his hand off of himself, and makes a show of holding his own wrists over his head. He looks very good like that, Fear thinks. Flushed and stretching, although he’s probably going to regret getting himself so worked up.

They take a considerable amount of massage oil onto their hands, and warm it between their palms before settling onto the bed next to him.

And then they start touching him.

Beginning with his shoulders, and working their way over his biceps, and down his chest. They rub the oil into his skin, in slow, methodical touches. Des bites his lips and shifts his hips, and makes pointed comments about _other_ places they could be touching him. And then sighs at the look Fear gives him, and accuses them of being a horrible tease. But he doesn’t make any move to stop them, or to take himself in hand again, as they focus on their knowledge of anatomy and muscle structure, and physical therapy.

Des’ muscles get more knots than one might expect.

He gets cricks in his neck and he can pull the tendons in his calves, and when he suffers his own rare bouts of anxiousness, it tends to bunch in the backs of his shoulders. Where it’s harder for other people to see it. Fear bypasses his erection, and gathers more oil, and works their hands over the muscles of his thighs, and down to the joints of his knees, and all the way to his feet. His skin gets warmer and warmer beneath their hands.

When they rub his feet, he makes sounds as if they are fucking him anyway. Fear is not a foot fetishist, but they do like watching him moan.

He has been neglecting his arches, too. They suspect he might need specialized footwear, and decide to broach the subject tomorrow, as they press firm circles into the places where softer, more sensitive skin meets sturdy sole flesh. They are rewarded with several more moans, and a few curses, because the massage does not seem to be doing much to quiet Des’ arousal.

Not that Fear thought it would.

They take a little more time on his feet than they planned, and add some lotion to the skin there, too, before finally relaxing the muscles to their satisfaction. By then their arms are beginning to feel strained, but not too badly.

“Roll over,” they instruct.

“Fuck me,” Des swears, tone caught somewhere between request and curse, and does.

Fear goes slower on his calves, at first. They take some time to recoup their own energy by running their hands up and down his legs. Des’ hips squirm, and he needs to shift around a few times to accommodate the discomfort of his erection. Fear uses some pillows to prop him up more comfortably, and then start in on his other side in earnest. Carefully oiling and kneading problem areas, but also letting their touch drift over more innocuous places, too. They run their fingers over the soft skin of his inner thighs, and the backs of his knees. They coax the tension out of his lower back, but with strokes that drift across the swell of his ass, and give them the opportunity to seize a few handfuls of it. Des rocks his hips at that, and whispers some filthy requests.

Fear just keeps going, though. When they get to his shoulders, the area proves as popular as his feet. And his neck is much the same. They use more oil. It’s starting to show on their bedsheets, but they expected it would. They trail their fingers up into Des’ hair, and work out the knots that have collected near his spine, rub circles against the sensitive muscles that that control the movement of his ears. The ones that make him breathless and boneless when pressed just right. Their hands are starting to tire, but their desire is not spent. So they only slow down again, as Des turns into a puddle on their bed.

“Fear,” he mumbles, at one point. Their hands are rubbing his hips. So it is not very difficult to shift him around, a bit, and close one over his cock. They press themselves up against the smooth heat of his back, and stroke him off. Intending to go slow, but, he is very pent up - so he does not last long against their palm.

They kiss the back of his neck, and muster up enough strength to stand up. Des looks glazed as they pull the soiled topsheet out from underneath him, and fold it up to fit in the laundry basket. Fear feels pleasantly heated, and tired as if they had made vigorous love for hours - which, in a sense, they have. They dim the lights, and work the remaining blankets free enough to get themselves and Des under them.

Des flaps a hand.

“I’ll just… gonna…” he mumbles, utterly failing to finish the thought.

Fear snugs up to his back again.

“I love you,” they say. It is important to say it, sometimes. With words as well. “Do you feel good?”

“…mmhmm…” Des manages to reply.

Articulate responses will probably have to wait until the morning, by the looks of things.

“Good. Me too.”


	38. Chapter 38

Fear glances down from their book, a tiny hand tugging on their shirt and pulling their attention away from the pages.

“Nabae,” Darevas whispers, his brother holding onto their shirt in turn like some sort of safety chain that makes their chest swell a little bit in pride “Dessie and Mama are melting all the snow in the backyard.”

Fear lets out a sigh.

That can’t be good.

Darevas leads them to the sliding back door, Felasel fitting the hand not fisted around his twin brothers shirt into their Nabaes along the way. Slowly, Fear pulls back the curtains and opens the door, only to find…

“Don’t you dare throw that snowba- _ **goddammit**_!” Screams Selene as a large ball of ice and slush pelts her in the chest.

Des is nearly doubled over in laughter, hiding around the opposite side of one of their trees.

There is a pile of already formed snowballs sitting beside him; a strangely wise decision on his part, given that each time he hits Selene, the snow and ice around her ignites, turning immediately into water.

A dangerous falling hazard, really.

“I wanted to build a snowman…”sniffs Felasel. “Like the song from the movie…”

“Nabae’ll fix it,” Darevas assures him. “Dessie always listens to Nabae.”

Fear raises an eyebrow in deliberation as another snowball lands square in Selenes face, a clean and immediate 2 foot circle of fire raising around her in her split second of shock.

“You two stay here,” Fear informs them, closing the door behind them just for peace of mind.

“What are you doing?” They call to the (supposed) adults.

“Clearing out the backyard,” Des declares proudly. “ _Much_ more efficient than shoveling.”  
“The twins wanted to build a snowman,” Fear says. “If you clear out all the snow, they won’t be able to.”

“Oh,” Des pouts. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t they tell me?”

“Probably because they’re worried you’ll attack them the way you did Kel yesterday.” Selene grumbles.

“Hey! She enjoyed that! Besides, _she_ threw the first snowball, not me!”

“Maybe you could just not pelt _anyone_ with blocks of ice?”

“Ooh, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, I don’t speak _sore loser_.”

“ _I’ll kill you you son of a-_ ”

Fear clears their throat pointedly.

“Des, until further notice, you are banned from throwing snowballs.”

“What?! That’s not fair-”

“ _And_ you’re going to stay out here alone to help the twins build their snowman.”

“I wanted to help,” Selene pouts. 

“ _You_ need to go inside and take a warm bath before you catch your death. Did you take your heart medication today?”

“Uhm…” She avoids, looking up at the gray sky contemplatively.

“Tsk tsk, Selene. So irresponsible,” Des teases, walking over to sling an arm over her shoulder. “Really, you should take better care of yourself.”

Selene lets out a loud, high pitched scream that makes Fear flinch and flare up the wards around the house reflexively.

“ _ **DES YOU LITTLE-**_!” She yells, shaking out the bottom of her sweater, snow falling out of the back of it.

“What? I didn’t _throw_ it,” Des grins, backing away quickly before she can shove her own handful of snow down the back of his shirt.

Fear lets out a sigh.

_Honestly._


	39. Chapter 39

Fear edges closer to the couch where Selene is sitting. Drawn in by the flash of something shiny in her hands. They have barely gotten near, though, when she shoves the whatever-it-was back into the nondescript shopping bag, and turns to raise a forestalling hand at them.

“No peeking,” she says. “I have to wrap these, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Fear pauses, and glances back towards the bag. Selene is already shoving it under one of the throw pillows on the couch to disguise it from view, however.

“What is it?” they ask. Their birthday is approaching, so they suppose they can guess, but it is still two weeks away. And they had glimpsed something _shiny._

Not that this matters, of course. Fear generally tends to appreciate more responsible gifts. But that is probably why they are so curious, now.

Selene gives them a _look._

“I’m not telling you, that’s the whole point of a surprise,” she insists. Then she makes a shooing motion at them. “Now scoot. Like I said, I have to wrap them, and you aren’t allowed to peek.”

Fear hesitates a moment.

It really is a security hazard to have unknown objects in the house… but that is a fairly flimsy line of reasoning, they know. Selene won’t fall for it. They trust her not to bring in anything _actually_ dangerous, and with the way she is handling the bag, it is doubtful it contains anything magical or _incidentally_ dangerous.

They relent.

“I will be in my room,” they say.

“Got it,” Selene replies.

They make their way there, and after only a moment more of hesitation, they slide into the seat in front of their computer and call up the house’s security cameras. There are three in the living room. They can see Selene at the couch, easily, but as they watch, she gathers up a roll of wrapping paper and some tape from the coffee table, and then settles down _behind_ it to start wrapping the whatever-it-may-be.

None of the camera angles can get a good picture on that spot.

…Curses.

They watch Selene’s shoulders move, and hear the crinkle of tape and paper through the house’s sound system, but she is obviously being careful. Nothing slips into view, and when she is done, she even puts the wrapped parcels back into the bag, so that Fear cannot count them or see what size they really are.

When she stands up, she winks at the camera.

 _I am being teased,_ they think.

Well.

Turnabout _is_ fair play, and they suppose they do enough of that on their own. By all accounts, there is nothing for them to get rightly offended or even annoyed about. They purse their lips, and tap their fingers next to their mouse. And then open up the household intercom.

“…I want my presents early,” they decide.

Selene cracks up.

“Yeah, no,” she says. “I’m putting these in my personal safe.”

Fear cuts off the intercom before they swear. _They_ do not know the combination to that safe. Even though virtually every other code in the house is at their disposal, they had seen to it that Selene had access to a personal safe which she could manage however she pleased. It was an important gesture, so that if she ever feel the need to squirrel away escape funds or keep something hidden from the rest of them, she was free to do so.

But mostly she just uses it to hide presents from them.

An unforeseen conclusion.

Fear lets out a long breath, and resigns themself to a wait.

…But what did she get them that is _shiny?_ Is it jewelry? That would be silly, no one gets them jewelry. Even Deceit doesn’t, Fear’s generally considered too picky to shop for with regards to these things. Is it something practical that just _happens_ to be shiny, like a kitchen utensil or a bottle of shower gel or something? Or maybe Selene was wearing a ring and _that_ was the shiny thing, and not anything she happened to be holding after all?

Inspiration strikes, and they check the security footage from before they’d arrived. But Selene knew what she was doing, and even from the best angle, she has the contents of her hands block from view of the camera.

Dammit. _They want to know._


	40. Chapter 40

Fear has made multiple attempts to figure out what Selene’s birthday presents to them are.

None have been successful.

Ordinarily, they think they might feel a certain degree of failure at having reached their actual birthday without making _any_ headway on the matter. No amount of cajoling, hinting, fishing _for_ hints, or even bribing Kel to ask and offering her fabulous prizes for telling them, had worked.

But it’s hard to be begrudging on their birthday. Especially when they wake up to a birthday breakfast, and everyone seems to be going out of their way to be nice to them and appreciative of them, and Selene… well.

They are, somewhat despite themselves, actually impressed that she succeeded. They know what everyone else got for them. It is a noteworthy feat; Fear prefers their birthdays to be quiet, relaxing affairs, and historically they have organized everything for them personally. It’s just easier that way. Deceit usually tries to throw parties, and Dirthamen will just defer to them anyway, and Des has a bad habit of just thinking what _he_ would like and extrapolating from there - though he’s been getting better about it.

But this year, Selene more or less took over. And Fear is really going to have to take extra care to repay her, in turn, because there is a definite novelty to the sense of the unexpected. And the fact that none of the unexpected feels _worrying_ , either. They don’t have to bother with their pills today, as Kel presents them with the birthday card she made, and Dirthamen gives them his customary cheque, with the stipulation that Fear ‘only buy fun things’, and Deceit presents them with a new coffee maker, and Des gives them a photo album.

Full of photos.

Not even sexy photos as they had assumed - so there is a surprise there, too - but more family-style pictures. Fear pages through them, while Des looks deservedly pleased with himself.

“Because you’re secretly a giant sap,” he explains..

Fear raises an eyebrow.

“So long as no one outside this house knows,” they permit. After all, Fear might be enough of a sap to appreciate this kind of gift. But Des was enough of a sap to hoard all the required photos and actually _make_ it.

Not that they don’t have their own photo hoard by now. Because of course they do. That is beside the point. Des has given them one that is nearly as large, by the look of it, and he is not as meticulous as they are by any stretch.

They turn expectantly towards Selene, who is holding a long, wrapped parcel on her knees.

And smiling.

“I don’t know if I can top the photo album,” she admits. But she does not seem perturbed by it. “I’m just proud that you don’t actually know what’s in this box.”

“Don’t I?” Fear counters.

“Nuh-uh!” Kel chimes, from her place on Dirthamen’s lap.

Selene snorts. And then, with a flourish, presents Fear with the box.

They try not to tear the paper _too_ quickly. It is the glossy, thick kind, though, and it does not want to come away easily even with some vigorous effort. They pull back the corners, and get the ribbon off, and find a nondescript grey box underneath. Opening _that_ \- they have to pull some tape away; clearly, Selene did not intend to make it easy for them to get discreetly into it, even if they had somehow managed to open her safe - frees a rush of tissue paper. And then more boxes, each individually wrapped inside the larger one.

They raise an eyebrow at Selene.

She shrugs.

“What? I wanted to surprise you,” she says.

“Clearly,” they agree, somewhat wry.

The boxes clearly have an order. Fear obligingly selects the first one, and unwraps _it,_ and is greeted by a layer of styrofoam.

Just as they are beginning to suspect themselves the victim of that prank where a person opens endless present boxes only to find something like a single grape or a gift card inside of them, he pops the styrofoam top out of the box, and sees something shimmering inside. Pulling it free reveals a piece of carved crystal. Dark blue, elegantly done in the shape of a bird. A raven? Fear inspects it curiously, and finds their name engraved on the bottom of the stand.

“Oh,” they say. Looking back at the boxes, they count them, including the one they are holding. One, two, three, four, five, six.

They suspect they know what is in the other boxes now.

“It’s… not really that amazing,” Selene concedes.

They curl a hand protectively around the little crystal raven, and feel their throat start to close up.

“It’s lovely,” they insist.

Carefully setting the first raven onto the coffee table, they turn to the others. Sure enough, the next box as a cloudy grey raven with ‘Deceit’ written on the base. Posed somewhat differently than the first; where Fear’s raven seems watchful, Deceit’s seems to be rearing. The third raven is all black, glittering darkly, in a restful pose. Dirthamen’s name is on the bottom. The fourth raven is deep purple, and is clearly showing off, with Des’ name on the bottom. The fifth raven is clear crystal. Selene’s modesty showing, they think, but it suits her, as she poses mid-flight.

The sixth raven is an amber colour, and peers up at Fear from the box. Kel’s name is, of course, written on the bottom.

“One for each,” they say.

Selene clears her throat.

“Well. Des said it, you’re secretly a softie,” she tells them, not quite meeting their gaze. “And I know you like to keep trinkets on things on your desk…”

They lean over, and press a kiss to her cheek.

Shining things. Shining little birds. For their family.

“I love them. All of them, very much,” they confess. Family or gifts - it would be true either way.


	41. More Drabbles

“This is…excessive.” Selene notes as she towers over all four of her lovers.

Des grins up at her, adjusting the long, split black skirt over her legs and the slim, deep purple stilettos he picked out for her. “You’re still technically under seven feet,” He assures her. “They’re only nine inches.”

“’ _Only_ ’ he says,” She grumbles, staring back at herself in the mirror. There is a promotional event for the band today, and after she had agreed to the photo-shoot for their last album cover, she had somehow been roped into taking part in the promotional tour as well. Which means a costume to match the ones the others perform in, and when she had adamantly refused to speak during any interviews (because she is not a part of the band and therefore there would be no _point_ , she insists), their agent had suggested she take the part of a sort of…looming creature in the background.

Selene is not entirely sure how that actually helps, but has been assured and reassured that it goes well with their branding.

Mostly it means strapping her into taller and taller heels while wearing more and more leather with each appearance, so far.

“D'you think it’d be more impressive with a miniskirt?” Des asks Fear. “Show off that the legs are _real_ , and all that?”

“Possibly,” They admit “But if Selene is standing in the room with those heels _and_ a miniskirt, I do not think the interviewers are going to get any cohesive answers out of these two.”

Des and Selene glance over at Deceit and Dirthamen, who are both staring dazedly up at her. Selenes cheeks and ears begin to turn a bright red as she turns around to look at them directly.

“Are you two alright?” She asks. “Do I look strange…?”

“Marry me,” they answer in unison.

Selene blinks.

And then laughs.

“I’m not marrying either of you just because you have a fetish for tall women. You’re sure the heels aren’t too much?”

“Definitely not,” Deceit answers immediately.

“They are very flattering,” Dirthamen insists.

“Can you walk in those?” Fear checks.

Selene takes a few tentative steps and finds that she can, in fact, move fairly normally in the heels. She was not expecting to be able to, in all honesty.

“Can you walk in them while carrying someone?” Dirthamen asks suddenly, and Selene raises an eyebrow curiously while Des snickers and Dirthamens face begins to flush.

“I suppose we’ll have to find out after the interview,” She offers. “You’ll just have to wait.”

* * *

Deceit gets home early to find the sounds of 90’s pop music blaring from the house’s high-quality speakers.

Intrigued, he keeps quiet as he puts his keys into the dish by the door, and pulls off his coat. He slips out of his shoes, and makes his way over to peer into the living room. Mostly expected to see Selene watching some kind of animated film, or maybe Des has some old and noisy porno on.

But no.

On the wide television screen, a woman with a blonde blow-out is carefully explaining several dance steps, using a couple in dated evening wear to demonstrate. The living room furniture has been pushed back. The light on the DVD player is on, and Des is standing in the middle of the room. Staring at the screen intently as he positions himself to mirror the correct pose, and then starts moving his feet with the instructions. He’s only wearing a pair of shorts and, for some reason, one of his glitzier sets of earrings.

Deceit folds his arms and leans against the wall. A grin spreads its way across his face.

 _Aww,_ he can’t help but think.

Des finishes the instructed turn in the dance, and finally sees him standing at the entrance to the living room.

He freezes.

There have only been a few times when Deceit has actually seen Des get _embarrassed._ Normally he’s much too shameless for such things - or at least, he’s good enough at covering it up, otherwise. But there really isn’t any other way to take the startled widening of his eyes, or the way his cheeks darken - already pretty dark from exertion, actually. He goes stock still, arms still stuck around an imaginary partner, while the music and the video instruction carry on heedlessly behind him.

“Aww,” Deceit says aloud.

Des clears his throat, and folds his arms.

“You aren’t supposed to be back for another hour,” he says.

Deceit shrugs.

“Fear got worried about my vocal strain, sent me home early,” he explains.

Again, Des clears his throat.

“Well I was just… this just came on television. And I was antsy,” he explains, before he lifts up the remote, and turns off the tv.

“DVD player’s still running,” Deceit says, pointing to the light.

Des discreetly hits a button on the remote, and it goes out. He makes a slight show of turning, and looking politely confused at Deceit’s assertion.

“No it’s not,” he says. “Must’ve been a trick of the light. Sometimes the sun hits it, makes it look like it’s on.”

“Uh-huh,” Deceit replies.

Changing gears, Des adopts a distinctly _slinkier_ posture, as he makes his way over towards him. Deftly straightening his booty shorts a bit, and shaking his head so his earrings jangle.

“Anyways, now that you’re here, I can think of some better ways to blow off steam.” He waggles his eyebrows and closes the distance between them. Deceit tilts his head, but secures an arm around Des’ waist. His skin feels pleasantly flushed from exertion.

“You know, I _do_ dance,” Deceit tells him.

Des unbuttons his top buttons.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he wonders, pointedly. Before Deceit can reply, then, he leans in and kisses him. Sliding his tongue between his lips, and fitting a thigh between his thigh. He presses upwards, and Deceit would by lying if he claimed the technique wasn’t pretty effective. He spreads his own hand against Des’ back, and feels certain parts of himself start to perk up in interest. The pants he’s wearing today are _pretty_ tight.

But he’s not entirely done with this subject. Trailing a hand up, he tangles his fingers into Des’ hair. A gentle tug breaks off the kiss. Deceit drops a slightly more affectionate one onto his nose.

“You’d look good with a blow-out,” he teases.

Des narrows his eyes.

“Jackass.”

“Dancing queen,” Deceit counters.

“Prick.”

“Sweetie.”

“Fuckhead.”

“Cupcake.”

Des backs him against the wall, and tugs at his shirt hard enough to pop the next few buttons clean off.

“Just for that, I’m not letting you top,” he says.

Deceit moves his hand from his back to his ass.

“Oh, honey. I’m going to make you eat those words,” he promises, with a wink.

* * *

Deceit is giddy.

Oh. Oh this is _hilarious._ They watch the conversation in the office break room, struggling to keep from giving up the game by wearing some kind of big, spoiler-y, shit-eating grin. Years of drama club come to the rescue, as they manage to reel it in, and instead keep a mostly contemplative gaze on the coffee machine. As if they’re just waiting for their next jolt of caffeine and are only half-listening to the their coworkers’ conversation.

“No, no, her spouse is nonbinary or something. Genderfluid, maybe,” Karyl from Accounts is saying.

Thenvunin from reception shakes his head.

“He’s a man,” he insists. “I met him a week after she was hired, he was very clearly a man, and a disreputable one no less. Dressed like some sort of - of _pornography_ star, with a ring that matched hers, asking about her _and_ flirting with me the entire time! It was exceedingly inappropriate.”

Des, then. Thenvunin’s definitely met Des. Karyl frowns, and shakes her head.

“No. They’re not like that,” she insists. “Selene brought them to the winter’s end party, they were very proper. A little stand-offish, in fact. And they used neutral pronouns, and looked sort of… feminine.”

Karyl hesitates on the description. Thenvunin sniffs.

“Humans have no eyes for these sorts of things,” he says.

 _Winter’s end party…?_ Oh, right. That was when Des brought home the flu, and everyone except Fear and Selene had neglected their shots until too late, so the rest of them all got sick. Fear was livid. Selene couldn’t opt out of the party, though, she was responsible for something to do with it. Food, maybe? Or drink? Deceit can’t remember anymore. But they’d gone, only for a couple of hours before they came back so Fear could worry angrily over everyone some more.

Venavismi from Human Resources pipes in, at that point.

“Well, when she was helping me plan the party, it was a man who came to pick her up afterwards,” he says.

Thenvunin looks triumphant.

“There, you see?” he insists.

Vena interrupts him, though.

“He wasn’t flirtatious,” he says. “He was wearing a really nice suit, and looked sort of shy?”

“Of course he’s not going to flirt in front of his wife,” Thenvunin scoffs.

“We were alone together in an elevator for a pretty solid chunk of time,” Venavismi counters.

“Well… well maybe he’s only interested in blonds!”

Vena laughs.

“Oh everyone’s _at least_ ten percent attracted to me,” he insists, with a wink.

Thenvunin squawks and throws a plastic spoon at him.

Deceit listens as the debate rages on. They can’t believe their luck. Three different coworkers, and they’ve all met three different ‘spouses’ for Selene. Karyl met Fear, Thenvunin met Des, and Vena met Dirthamen. Their confusion only seems to mount as they all agree that Selene’s ‘mystery spouse’ at least has dark hair and a nice build, but what all that entails - haircut, body type, facial features, etc - starts diverging wildly again. Karyl’s adamant that her spouse has breasts. Vena’s sure the man he met had piercing blue eyes. Thenvunin remains convinced that he’s a ‘sex fiend’ who thought painted-on leather pants were appropriate attire for an office visit.

Theories on a ‘genderfluid shapeshifter’ gain some ground, despite Thenvunin and Vena both feeling certain that the men they met had the wrong ‘vibes’ for that kind of thing.

Slowly, Deceit turns the wedding band on their finger with their thumb.

It’s Karyl who turns to them in exasperation at last.

“Deceit, you’ve driven Selene home a few times, right?” she says. “Have you ever met her spouse?”

Deceit gives it a minute to think about their answer.

Then then nod.

“I have.”

 _Immediately,_ all eyes in the break room focus on them. The sense of expectation is palpable; even the people who hadn’t been involved in the conversation are clearly listening in, and all pretenses of distraction seem to fall away, as they decide that they might actually get a verdict on things now.

“Well?” Thenvunin prompts.

At that exact moment, Selene herself walks in.

Totally oblivious.

Deceit can no longer fend off their shit-eating grin. Oh, the chance to stir this pot is _perfect._ They make their way over to her, while the gossipers all shift awkwardly, as if trying to decide whether they should drop the topic or just ask her, or even feel guilty for chatting about it in the first place.

“Hey Selene, how many people are you married to?” they ask.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows.

Selene just raises an eyebrow at them; throwing a glance around the room, before she gets that ‘what the hell are you up to?’ look on her face. After a moment, though, she sighs, and folds her arms.

“You mean, including you?” she checks.

Poor Thenvunin looks faint.

“Including me,” Deceit confirms, happily.

“…Four,” Selene admits.

Karyl’s jaw just about hits the floor.

“ _What?!”_ she exclaims.

To his credit, Venavismi just breaks into applause. Selene’s cheeks darken, just a little bit, as she is subjected to a congratulatory wolf-whistle instead. Some of the other listeners-in look a but gratified, like they’d already guessed it was something along those lines. Thenvunin’s face does a few interesting things, while Karyl gradually looks as if she can’t decide whether she’s feeling admiration or envy.

After a minute, Thenvunin levels an accusing finger at Deceit.

“You never told us you were married!” he says.

“Yes I did,” they counter. They hold up their hand, displaying their wedding band. “Look, I even have a matching ring, too.”

“I never - you didn’t _say_ you were married to Selene!”

“Well, we’re at work. Why would it come up?” Deceit counters. Not bothering to mention that at first, when they didn’t know the company policies on fraternization, they’d been worried that it would hurt their chances of being hired.

Selene runs a hand down her face.

“Four!” Vena exclaims, delighted. “ _Goals,_ Selene. Are you all…?”

Deceit nods in confirmation for him, and he bursts into delighted laughter.

“Okay, we need to see pictures,” Karyl finally decides. She comes over and bothers Selene until the other woman finally gives, and with a sigh of long-sufferance - but just a _little_ bit of pride, too - produces a picture they took at the last fancy party they needed to go to for Dirthamen’s sake. Deceit notes, to their amusement, that she finds one in which they all look very good. Des is wearing that purple gown they personally destroyed, and Dirthamen looks very regal. Fear’s make-up game is on point, Deceit is straightening their gloves like a character from a spy movie, and Selene is standing in the middle, looking at the camera like she’s almost daring the photographer to try something.

It’s a good photo. Des has a copy of it in his own office, Deceit recalls.

Karyl looks somewhat stunned.

After a minute, she stares back at Selene, and points accusingly at her phone.

“You’re all _hot!”_ she blurts.

“Yeah,” Deceit says, fondly.

Thenvunin seems to find his voice again then, and thumps a hand down on the table.

“Four is too many!” he declares.

“Selene’s still managed it, once or twice,” Deceit says, with a sly wink that has him blushing and sputtering and then all but _fleeing_ the break room.

Selene pinches them. Hard.

“Ow!” they protest. “What? You have! It’s impressive. I’m bragging on your behalf.”

“We’re at _work,”_ she reminds them.

Venavismi offers her a high five, which she grudgingly returns, while Karyl stares at the photo like she’s having some kind of profound revelation.

“How do you even meet four people to marry…?” she murmurs.

“Poly dating app,” Deceit supplies. It’s not actually how _they_ met, but that particular situation would be hard to, uh. Replicate. Karyl rounds on them and suddenly brandishes her phone, though, and the next thing they know, they’re helping her download one of the more highly-recommended poly dating apps. That isn’t exclusively for elves, anyway. Karyl exits the break room while she’s still watching the app download, somewhat dazed.

Selene marches determinedly over to the coffee machine.

“It’s not a big deal,” she says. “We’re all married to each other anyway. Deceit also has four spouses.”

“I do,” they confirm, happily.

She does that thing with her lips that means she’s trying to keep serious, but it’s not working very well. Two seconds later, though, Karyl zips back into the break room, and immediately starts pestering Deceit again.

“Show me how this works!” she insists.

Selene shows no inclination to rescue them.

With a sighs, Deceit resigns themselves to introducing their coworker to the less-glamorous-than-one-might-think world of polyamorous relationships, as they peer down at her phone and start parsing out the app…

* * *

(Lightly Stabbed)

“YOU WERE _STABBED?!”_

“Lightly! Lightly stabbed!” Selene insists, hurriedly.

Dirthamen does not think he has ever seen Fear go so pale so quickly before.

“ _Where?!”_

“In the parking lot at the-”

“Where on your body, Selene?! Why are you standing here, why aren’t we going to a hospital?!” Fear looks somewhat wild around the eyes as they suddenly seem to decide this matter for themselves, and pull out their phone to call and ambulance. Selene catches their hands to stall them.

“Dirthamen already took me,” she says. “It’s fine, it was just on my hip. It was a very _light_ stabbing…”

Fear drops their phone in favour of hurriedly pulling at Selene’s trousers. Dirthamen picks up the phone, assuming they will want it again shortly. While Selene, to his surprise, does not protest; instead she helps direct Fear towards her injured hip, and the stitches and bandage already in place there.

“That could have hit any number of vital organs if it was-”

“Yeah, but it didn’t. See? I’m alright. Just a _very light_ stabbing, nothing to get all worked up about…”

Dirthamen watches as Fear’s panic levels decrease from an eleven to something closer to a nine.

These are still high panic levels. But they seem to be capable of processing more than the potential imminent death of Selene, as they reach over and snatch their phone back from him, and immediately begin herding Selene inside of their house.

“How did it happen?” they ask, tersely.

“Well, like I was _going_ to say, we were crossing the parking lot at the grocery store,” Selene says, tone surprisingly patient. “Some crazed fan must have recognized us, somehow. She came lunging at me, calling me names, and just when Dirthamen tried to push her off she whipped out an exact-o knife and _very lightly_ stabbed me.”

Fear looks ill.

“Which store?”

Selene hesitates.

“I don’t want to say.”

Fear gives her a look as they pointedly help her take her coat off, and then start easing her onto one of the living room sofas.

“Why not?” they ask, when Selene fails to elaborate herself.

“Because then you’ll say we can’t go there anymore, and I _like_ that store. And it was a totally random incident, so it’s not as if it would help anything to-”

“Dirthamen.”

“It was the Smart-and-Save,” he dutifully supplies.

“Oh, _come on,”_ Selene protests. He gives her an apologetic look; but Fear would do very unpleasant things to him if he withheld that information. And he does not agree with Selene’s assessment of the store anyway. The aesthetic there is very unpleasant, and the cashiers are routinely surly.

“Banned,” Fear declares, decisively.

“But they have bear-shaped cookies two for two dollars _all the time,_ the whole packages!” Selene protests.

“You can buy them full price from another store. I will pay the difference,” Fear says.

“I don’t want you to pay the difference-”

“Selene.”

Fear’s voice is rough. Dirthamen has rarely heard it take on that tone. It stops Selene cold, too. Her expression falls as she looks at Fear’s ashen face. They are gripping both of their own arms too tight. Folded in on themselves as if they need to use their own hands to keep from shaking apart.

“You were _attacked.”_

“…I know,” she says. For the first time since the actual event, then, Dirthamen sees genuine distress cross her own features, too.

He moves over towards her. Joins her on the couch, and settles an arm around her. And is only a little surprised when Fear takes her face between their hands, and leans in to press their foreheads together.

“I’m fine,” Selene insists, then. “Really. It really was… I know it’s frightening, but it’s okay. We don’t even have to tell the others…”

“We are telling the others,” Fear declares. Then they amend. “Not the children.”

Currently Des and Deceit have the children over visiting Deceit’s grandmothers, while they are in town. It had been part of the reason for the shopping trip in the first place. They were going to celebrate their ‘free evening’ in a manner which Selene had elected; rather than sex, which was customary, they were going to ‘pig out on grown-up snacks’ and watch movies that were an unsuitable rating for children.

The evening’s plans have been derailed. Their groceries were left forgotten while Dirthamen called for assistance.

After a moment, Fear sighs, and hugs Selene. Selene’s eyes look red as she hugs them back. Dirthamen tentatively rubs at her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she says again. Sniffing.

“And we will keep it that way,” Fear announces.

For a moment, Dirthamen thinks Selene will object. But perhaps she wants that reassurance at the moment more than the pragmatism of pointing out that even Fear cannot protect everyone from everything. So instead she closes her eyes and leans into their tight embrace, and lets them promise that they will keep her safe and that no one will ever attempt such a thing again - and even nods, once, when Fear reiterates that her favourite grocery store is banned.

“You won’t want to go back there,” they tell her, quietly. “Not for a while, at least.”

She sighs.

“If it makes you feel better.”

“It does.”

After a few minutes, though, Selene seems to bounce back into insisting that nothing dire has occurred. She huffs a little while Fear checks over her injury, and then her prescriptions, and attempts to convince them to ‘let it go’ before watching in futility as they disappear into their office. Dirthamen can feel them enhancing the security wards on the house.

Of course, Selene can, too.

Some of the tension in her face eases, as she leans against his chest.

“I’m really alright,” she murmurs.

“I am glad,” he says, and lightly squeezes her shoulder.

But truly - the world does not feel as if it has been set to rights until he hears the dulcet tones of Fear threatening people over the phone. Selene seems to agree, as her eyes slide shut, and she finally drifts off to sleep beside him.


	42. Chapter 42

Deceit loves being in love.

There’s nothing else quite like it, they think. Nothing _warms_ quite like it, sometimes even when they’re least expecting it. Fear slides a bowl of fruit in front of them and mutters something about it being better for them than donuts, and Deceit thinks of how so many of their concerns and quirks just seem to revolve around _love._ That the anxiety they can’t escape, the paranoia that beats at them, always decides the most effective route to pick is ‘what if something bad happened to the people you care about?’

And so Deceit catches their wrist, and leans up, and presses a kiss to the corner of their jaw. Warm like the mug of coffee still in their hand.

They think of love again, when Dirthamen settles onto the couch between themselves and Selene. Squeezing into the space with a weighted blanket, and letting out a sigh of contentment at the grounding presence on either side of him. Selene hums back but she’s distracted with her book. Deceit reaches up and sinks their fingers into Dirthamen’s hair, lets him tilt until he’s leaning against them while the television plays out a show about wizard doctors sleeping together.

How sweet it is, to be trusted.

They’re washing up the dishes from lunch, the day slow and lazy in the way it only can be when they’ve all finally managed to get a full weekend _off._ A song bubbles out of their lips, and they shimmy their hips a bit as they pry fry-up from Selene’s favourite pan. Des moves behind them, their only warning a motion in their peripheral vision, and then the solid _smack_ of a hand at their ass.

Deceit gets him with the dirty dish towel in revenge, laughter bubbling up as Des mock protests, and races from the room to escape more water.

They still feel like they’re bubbling up with things as they peel off their t-shirt - soaked from the game - and finish up. Mopping up the spilled water, before heading to their bedroom to find a fresh one.

Selene is sitting at the window. At _their_ window. Deceit follows her line of sight through it, and sees a pair of crows bouncing around the front yard. Selene’s smile is soft while she watches them, the book she’d probably been stealing from their bedside table forgotten in her hand, just for a moment.

She watches the crows and Deceit watches her watching them, the look on her face like sunlight to them. Precious and just as warm as coffee, as blankets, as hot water.

When she finally notices them, she blinks.

Her gaze roves over them. They grin as her cheeks darken noticeably, and the mood in the bedroom shifts. Not completely, but - well. Deceit’s far from a bad-looking elf, and they _are_ shirtless. They can only suppose their own expression is more than a little smitten, too, after a day like today.

“Can I help you with something?” they ask. She’s in their bedroom, after all.

Selene licks her lips, and holds up the book demonstrably.

“I was just robbing you,” she says.

They mock-gasp.

“A sexy burglar? In _my_ bedroom?”

“It’s more likely than you think,” Selene fires back. They groan, because that was a tacky one.

“Memes, Selene?” they ask.

She gets a certain look in her eye, and sets the book back down onto their nightstand.

“Figures it would be just my luck to end up robbing the Fun Police,” she teases. “I suppose you’ll want to cuff me now?”

Deceit groans, but like a magnet drawn in, they move closer to her. Slipping their arms around her waist, grinning unabashedly when she settles her hands against their chest.

“A book thief and a Fun Cop? This is easily the lamest roleplay scenario we’ve ever come out with,” they note. But they don’t exactly sound convincingly disdainful, as Selene moves in and presses her lips to theirs. Stealing just a taste of a kiss, while her own lips quirk, and she traces her fingers over their collarbones.

“Do you want me to cuff you or not?” Selene counters.

They raise their eyebrows.

“I thought I was the cop?”

“You are. But I’m going to turn the tables on you, leave you tied to the bed, and then steal all your stuff,” she explains.

“Oh. Well. By all means, then.”

They love being in love.

Most of all, they love being in love with this pack of absolute dorks.


End file.
